Sewn
by lady mordred whochester holmes
Summary: When Molly's cousin decides to move to London to find her muses, she ends up moving in with a sociopathic consulting detective and an army doctor. Charlotte isn't sure what to expect when moving into 221b, and Sherlock sure about a woman sharing a flat with him, let alone a dog. But as they work together on cases, will romance blossom? *Sherlock/OC*, begins in A Study in Pink.
1. A Catch Up in The Cafe

**Disclaimer: I'm only gonna do this once. Nothing belongs to me except my OC Charlotte, and Layton**

**Hi all! This is my first Sherlock/OC fic, I've been wanting to do this for a while now! Title is from the song 'Sewn' by The Feeling. Enjoy :)**

* * *

"Here you go." The waitress placed a creamy hot chocolate on the table and Charlotte smiled her thanks as the waitress departed. Charlotte checked her watch before looking around the café she was in. A short queue was waiting at the counter, couples and friends were laughing and chatting, and mothers were trying to control their young children. She checked her watch again and another minute had passed. Another minute that her cousin was late.  
"C'mon cuz, where are you?" she whispered under her breath. Just then, Molly Hooper pushed open the door and pushed through the queue, apologising to people she accidently shoved. When she got through the line, she paused and looked around the coffee shop. Charlotte immediately stood up from her chair when she saw her cousin, and called out her name and waved. Molly turned at the sound of her name and waved back before heading towards the table. Charlotte manoeuvred around the table and brought her cousin into a hug.

"Molly, hi! We haven't seen each other in ages!" She said over the pathologist's shoulder.  
"Oof! Oh- Hello Lottie." Molly smiled as Charlotte let her go. The girls took their seats across from each other. Her cousin looked just the same as she did when they had last seen each other last year. Blonde, wavy hair that was parted at the side and reached the middle of her upper arm. Brown eyes that would dart around the place, taking in the surroundings and noticing things others wouldn't.  
"Do you want a drink?" Charlotte asked.  
"I think I'll get a coffee." She needed it with the work she had today.  
"It's on me." Charlotte said as she got a waitress' attention.  
"Oh, you really don't have to-" Molly insisted but her cousin giggled.  
"Seriously it's fine, milk and one sugar yeah?" Molly nodded. She was surprised her cousin remembered how she liked her coffee, but that was Charlotte she supposed. Always curious about everything and retaining as much as she could in her head so knew at least a little bit of everything. Molly was reminded of Sherlock then. Charlotte was almost the same, observing and gathering facts about things from a glance. But where Sherlock didn't care much for others' emotions and opinions about his deductions, Charlotte did, and so she kept quiet about her observations and placed a smirk on her face if she knew something she shouldn't. Molly was taken out of her thoughts when her coffee was delivered.

"So… what're you doing here in London?" she asked before taking a sip of her drink.  
"Well, y'know how I've been writing and stuff, trying to anyway," she said with a frown, "but I've lost my muses, so I thought I'd move here to London, to find my inspiration." She announced.  
"You're moving here? That's great!" Molly grinned.  
"I know! Well, it would be if I could find a place." Charlotte frowned again.  
"Oh… I would offer my place but its only one bedroom and-" Molly stuttered.  
"I know, I know, don't worry. But can I ask you for a favour?" the blonde said waving a hand.  
"Lottie, you know you can."  
"Cheers. Could you keep an eye and hear out for any places for rent? Even someone looking for a flat share? It would help a great deal."  
"Of course, yeah. I'll see if there's anything at work."  
"Thanks again, cuz." Charlotte sighed with relief. "So, how's work as a pathologist?"

Molly answered and talked about how her work was quite interesting because she sort of helped the police with murder investigations and detective work. She also went on to talk about Sherlock Holmes and how good he was at what he did and his rather odd methods of work.  
"This Holmes guy sounds exciting; you'll have to introduce us one day." Charlotte said when her cousin had finished.  
"Oh, I don't know…he's not one for socialising, really."  
"Really?" Lottie repeated, "Sounds like you know him pretty well." She said with a smirk before taking a swallow of her hot chocolate. Molly's cheeks went red as she mumbled and stuttered.  
"Oh, uh… no it's not like _that_… I just think he's… he's…" Charlotte raised her eyebrows at her cousin's usual shy and almost nervous nature.  
"Don't worry, cuz, you secret's safe with me." She swore, "You know, you should try and do something."  
"Like what?"  
"I don't know, ask him to coffee sometime. I know you said he isn't sociable, but it's worth the try, surely? Oh! And I remember reading somewhere that if you keep your make-up simple but wear a brighter shade of lippy, it draws attention to your lips." She advised with a wink.  
"Oh, err- thanks, I'll bear that in mind. But enough of me, what about you? How've you been?"  
"I've been good… writing, as you know, but to no avail. I'm trying to write children's crime stories but… _meh_." Charlotte said simply. Molly nodded and checked her watch.  
"Is that the time? I'd best be off." She said apologetically, finishing off her coffee. Charlotte agreed and left money for the drinks on the table before walking out the door with Molly onto the relatively quiet street.

"Here," Lottie said, digging through her handbag for something before coming up with a lipstick. "for that Sherlock guy."  
"Thanks," Molly smiled, "So what are you going to do now?" her cousin looked around before answering,  
"Probably take the dog for a walk round Hyde Park, seems a nice day for it."  
"Dog? I didn't know you had a dog."  
"Oh yeah!" Charlotte exclaimed and spun around to untie a leash from a bike bay, "Molly, meet Layton. Layton, meet Molly." Molly looked at the German Shepherd that stood next to her cousin, tail wagging happily. The dog had lively brown eyes, a bushy tail, and a reddish-brown and black coat.  
"Oh… hello!" she said awkwardly, gingerly petting his head. "I'm, uh, more of a cat person, to be honest…"  
"That's fine. I remember when we were little; you used to beg my parents and yours to get you a little tabby kitten." Charlotte giggled at the memory of a young Molly stropping off when they denied her. "Well, I don't want to keep you any longer, so I'll see you soon yeah?"  
"Yeah, we should do this again sometime, on my day off perhaps when I don't have to rush off." Molly agreed.  
"Definitely. Oh, and don't forget about my flat hunt." The blonde reminded,  
"Don't worry, I won't."  
"Okay, thanks again cuz."  
"No problem, Lottie." The two cousins hugged and went in opposite directions down the street, one to St. Bart's and the other to Hyde Park.

* * *

Molly waited patiently for the coffee machine to fill up the cup. She had taken her cousin's advice and put on the lipstick, she'd even been as brave as to have asked Sherlock out to coffee but he took another meaning from her suggestion and now here she was, filling up his cup for him. She caught her reflection in the machine and saw the colour of her lips. Charlotte had been right since Sherlock had noticed, but now Molly didn't think it was worth the effort so she swiped up a napkin and took off her lipstick. The coffee had stopped spurting out of the machine so she proceeded to stir in two sugars, just as he had asked, and carry it carefully back to the lab upstairs. Charlotte had asked Molly to keep an eye or hear out for a place to stay, but so far not so good. She hadn't heard anything from her friends since they were already cooped up with partners or not looking for a place or flat share, besides them, Molly only saw the corpses at work. Molly pushed open the door to the lab and made her way to Sherlock. Mike Stamford and a man she didn't know where also in the lab.

"Ah, Molly, Coffee, thank you." He said politely in greeting. What was going on? He's not usually this polite, but Molly smiled nonetheless. "What happened to the lipstick?"  
"It wasn't working for me."  
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement; your mouth's too… small now." He said as he took the coffee and walked to the other end of the lab, taking a sip. _Aaand he's back, _Molly thought.  
"Okay." She said simply at loss for words. She was about to leave the room when Stamford stopped her.  
"Miss Hooper? You don't happen to have any spare body parts do you? It's for a lesson I've got planned." He said quietly, as not to interrupt Sherlock's and the other man's conversation.  
"I might do, I think that one of the bodies signed up for organ and body donation, so he's all yours" she whispered back.  
"Cheers."  
She nodded and was about leave when she got stopped again by the sound of Sherlock's voice.

"Potential flatmates should know the worse about each other."  
Molly turned around, Sherlock was looking for a flatmate?  
"Have you- You told him about me?" The man asked Stamford.  
"Not a word."  
"Then who said anything about flatmates?" he asked, shifting from one foot to the other, hand gripping his cane.  
"I did. Told Mike this morning I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for, now here he is just after lunch with an old friend, clearly you're just home from military service in Afghanistan. It wasn't a difficult leap." Sherlock explained while putting his gloves and scarf on.  
"How did you know about Afghanistan?"  
"I've got my own nice little place in central London. We ought to be able to afford it, if we manage to get a third person in."  
"Third person?" Molly blurted before she could think.  
"Yes. Why?" Sherlock sounded bored.  
"Oh, it's just that my cousin is looking for a place too." She said hopefully.  
"What are they like?" he asked, eyes glued to his phone screen.  
"I think you'll be able to put up with them," she answered, "They're into crime and mysteries like you." She added hoping it could convince him.  
"Fine. We'll meet their tomorrow evening at 7 o'clock. Sorry, must dash, I've left my riding crop in the mortuary." He said as he passed the man. "Oh and Molly, inform your cousin of the good news."  
"Is that it?"  
"Is that what?" Sherlock replied,  
"We've only just met and we're gonna go look at a flat."  
"Problem?" The man smiled at Stamford, as if he couldn't believe what Sherlock was saying, before replying.  
"We don't know a thing about each other. I don't know where we're meeting, I don't even know your name."

"I know you're an army doctor and you've been invalided home from Afghanistan, I know you've got a brother who's worried about you but you won't go to him for help because you don't approve of him, possibly because he's an alcoholic, more likely because he recently walked out on his wife and I know that your therapist thinks your limp is psychosomatic. Quite correct, I'm afraid. That's enough to be going on with don't you think?" Sherlock said all in one breath. Molly thought that she was going slightly weak at the knees so moved out the way of the door to let Sherlock pass. He opened the door but stuck his head back around the corner. "The name's Sherlock Holmes, and the address is 221b Baker Street." He winked and clicked his tongue before saying "Afternoon," to Stamford and leaving the room completely. The man looked towards Stanford and he simply said,  
"Yep, he's always like that." The man looked back toward the door shifting on his cane before looking at Molly.  
"Sorry, John Watson." He said, holding out his hand,  
"Molly Hooper," she replied,  
"So your cousin…" he said leading off the sentence,  
"Oh, she's really nice. Her name's Charlotte Walker and she's a children's author." Molly said, nodding her head for effect,  
"Not like Mr Holmes, then?" he said jokingly,  
"Oh, not at all." She said with a smile, "Oh, but she does, sort of, have dog…" Molly cringed slightly, hoping she hadn't ruined her cousin's chance of finding a place.  
"That's no problem, I don't mind dogs." He said, as if sensing her nervousness and reassuring her. "What breed is it?"  
"A German Shepherd, but he's lovely." She insisted, " I must dash,"  
"Of course. Nice meeting you," John said with a smile.  
"You too," she said before leaving the room.

* * *

Molly was sitting curled up on her sofa, phone in hand and chewing her lip. She finally just hit dial. Charlotte answered on the third ring.  
_"Hello?"_  
"Lottie, hi,"  
_"Oh hey, Molly,"_  
"Listen, I've got some news,"  
_"…Yes?"_  
"I was in the lab with Sherlock and-"  
_"Did he notice the lippy? Are you two going on a date?"_ Charlotte interrupted with a gasp,  
"What? No. No, you asked me to keep a look out for flat shares, and well… I've found one!"  
_"You did what? Oh my god, thank you! You're the best, you know that?"_  
"Oh, well…" Molly said, being modest,  
_"So who are they, the person I'm moving in with?"_  
"One's an army doctor, John Watson, he seems very nice. Cute, almost… he's quite short, about your height."  
_"Sounds like a nice bloke. The other person?"_  
"Another man," Molly paused before continuing, "His name's Sherlock Holmes…"  
_ "_The_ Sherlock Holmes?"_  
"…Yes,"  
_"The guy that you said solves all those crimes?"_  
"Yeah."  
_"The same Sherlock that you fancy?"_  
"…Yup,"  
_"Well, that should be fun." Molly could hear the excitement in her cousin's voice_  
"I'm sure it will be."

* * *

"Did you hear that Layton?" Charlotte collapsed into her armchair, and the dog happily came over to her, winding through the dozen boxes that held what little she had. He rested his head on her lap and she scratched at his favourite spot behind his ears. "We've got a new home!" She smiled and wished the butterflies in her stomach away. She was excited to get out of this place that she knew was holding her down, not giving her inspiration to write. She sighed as she looked at the mostly packed boxes around her. They were small in size but still managed to hold most of her things. She didn't own a lot since she wasn't making the usual amount of money from writing. Mainly photos and sentimental items were packed, Layton's things and her clothes would go in a suitcase, the rest of her things in the boxes, and her furniture would have to be dismantled and transported to Baker Street.

Molly had texted her the time and address to meet, and Charlotte was glad that she had almost a whole day tomorrow to finish packing and say goodbye to boring. Hopefully she would be right, and being in a different area would help her with her writing. She looked towards a box to her left that held her typewriter. She had a laptop, but she preferred writing her stories with the typewriter. The tapping of the keys and ringing of the bell when the page was done helped her focus, and there was something about words written with a typewriter that just made it look… better.

Living with Sherlock Holmes could also be a source of inspiration for Charlotte, an extra incentive for her writing. At their catch-up session, Molly had told her all the wonderful things he does and his art of deduction, but were there any bad points? Charlotte reached for her laptop and Layton whined when his face was replaced by it. She logged in as Layton laid his soft, furry belly on her bare feet and rested his head between his forelegs.  
"Thanks, mate," she said, "you're always so warm." Charlotte added as she wiggled her toes under Layton. She opened up the Internet and typed 'Sherlock Holmes' in the search engine. It's best to know your potential flat mate before you move in together, right?

**End of chapter one! If you check out my polyvore ( .com) you can see Charlotte's Outfit and Layton! Check out my tumblr, lady-mordred-whochester-holmes, you can ask any questions about any of my fanfics :) Chapter two will be up soon, I promise**

**~Sophia**


	2. The Game Is Afoot

Charlotte checked her watch for the umpteenth time that day. She had wished the day to go quickly so she could see the Baker Street flat, but it had gone so slowly. She passed the time by packing up the last of her things, walking Layton, and cleaning her flat for the people who were going to move in. It was now 5:53, just over an hour before she would meet the detective and army doctor.  
"Layton!" she called, and the German Shepherd came trotting out of kitchen, tongue hanging out happily. Charlotte petted his head and scratched his back as she said, "C'mon, it's time for a wash. We want you gleaming when we meet our potential flatmates, don't wanna scare them off now, do we? No we don't, no we don't." she cooed, and walked to the bathroom with Layton following her. "In we go, Layton." The dog gladly jumped into the bath ready for his wash. Charlotte lathered him up and showered him down twice, and then towelled him dry before filling up food bowl for him to eat while she showered herself. By the time she had washed and dried, it was almost time to leave. Charlotte put on a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt before pulling on a pair of black ankle boots and her brown leather jacket. She put Layton on his leash and made her way to 221 Baker Street.

* * *

She strolled down the pathway and turned around the corner to a busy street, with tall, white buildings lining either side. Ahead of her, she could see a red pull-out roof that belonged to a café, and she counted the door numbers until she reached 221. Just as Charlotte got there, a man with a cane and greying blonde hair also stopped outside.

"You must be Molly Hooper's cousin," he said, sounding slightly unsure, but before she could answer another voice greeted them.  
"Hello."  
Both the man and Charlotte turned to face a tall dark haired man in an equally dark coat walking towards them.  
"Mr Holmes," the man said in greeting, and Charlotte presumed that he was John Watson.  
"Sherlock, please." the detective insisted as he shook hands with John, "And who are you?" he asked Charlotte rather rudely.

"Charlotte Walker. I'm Molly's cousin?" she introduced herself, swapping hands on Layton's leash to hold out her right. After a moment he took and shook her hand.  
"I wasn't aware that you were a woman. Or had a dog." he said, raising an eyebrow at the German Shepherd.

"You know, for a detective, your observing skills are outstanding," she said sarcastically. Sherlock's eyes roved over her and Layton, taking in every detail and making deductions. When he was silent, she asked hesitantly "You haven't got a problem with dogs, have you?" looking between John and Sherlock.  
"Not at all," John was the first to answer,  
"I suppose not," Sherlock decided.

Charlotte suddenly felt nervous yet defensive at the same time. What if Sherlock didn't like dogs? That would mean she couldn't move in and it could take her ages until she found a flat like this for a good price. Sensing the uneasiness, John spoke up whilst knocking on the door. "It's a prime spot, must be expensive."

"I know Mrs Hudson, the landlady. She's given me a special deal." Sherlock explained, "She owes me a favour."  
"What for?" Charlotte asked,  
"A few years back, her husband got himself sentenced to death in Florida. I was able to help out."  
"You stopped her husband being executed?" John clarified,  
"Oh no, I assured it." Sherlock smiled, just as the door opened to reveal an elderly lady with short hair and a purple dress.

"Sherlock!" she greeted him with a hug.  
"Mrs Hudson, Dr John Watson and Miss Charlotte Walker." he introduced,  
"Hello, come in," she smiled, "Oh! And who's this handsome boy?" she asked, bending down to scratch Layton's head.  
"This here is Layton'" Charlotte replied, "I hope having a dog is alright?"  
"Oh it's fine, love!" she assured, and waved them in.  
"Shall we?" Sherlock inquired, letting John, Charlotte, and Layton go ahead of him.

Sherlock raced up the stairs and waited until his new flatmates were almost at the top of the dark stairs to swing the door open, moving aside to let them enter. John and Charlotte looked around. The place was in a bit of a mess. Papers were scattered and boxes still unpacked. It didn't look that different to what Charlotte's place looked like now, really. "Oh, this could be very nice. Very nice indeed." John announced as he limped to the kitchen and Layton sniffed around.  
"Yes," Sherlock and Charlotte agreed.  
"Yes, I think so, my thoughts exactly." he elaborated.

"As soon as all this rubbish gets sorted out."  
"Let's get straight ahead and move in."  
"We should clear this stuff away before we move in."  
John, Sherlock, and Charlotte all spoke at the same time. Layton whined in confusion and tilted his head.  
"Oh," John awkwardly said and Charlotte bit her lip. "So this is all your-"  
"Well," Sherlock cut him off, "obviously I can straighten things up a bit." he said as he started picking up random things and placing them elsewhere before brushing past Charlotte and Layton to drive a dagger through the mantelpiece. Both the woman and canine tilted their heads to the right at his behaviour.

"That's a skull." John pointed with his cane from next to Charlotte.  
"Is it real?" she asked, raising both eyebrows.  
"Friend of mine. Well, I say 'friend'..." he trailed off.  
"What do you think then, Dr Watson?" Mrs Hudson asked as she came in. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'd be needing three bedrooms." she said, and Charlotte stifled her giggle.  
"Of course we'll be needing three." John had a confused look on his face.  
"Oh don't worry, there's all sorts round here. Mrs Turner at next door's got married ones." she added in a hushed tone, and Charlotte couldn't help a noise coming out her mouth. John sent Charlotte a look and she shrugged.

"Oh Sherlock, look at the mess you've made." the landlady scolded, moving into the kitchen. John patted a cushion before collapsing into an armchair with a sigh, and Charlotte found a space on the sofa to sit as Layton sat on the floor watching Sherlock with curious eyes.  
"Looked you up on the internet yesterday." Charlotte announced.  
"So did I."  
"Anything interesting?" Sherlock asked them both after a pause.  
"Found your website," John answered, "'The Science of Deduction',"  
"What did you think?" Sherlock smiled, but John gave him a look and it quickly disappeared.  
"You said you could identify a software designer by his tie…" Charlotte began,  
"And an airline pilot by his left thumb?" John finished.  
"Yes?" Sherlock asked, "And I can read you're military from your face and your leg, and your brother's drinking habits from your mobile phone."

What? He could do all that? Sure, Charlotte could read people better than others and use the process of elimination, but not as well as this guy.  
"How?" both Charlotte and John asked, but Sherlock only smiled and returned to what he was doing.  
"How about these suicides then, Sherlock? Thought that'd be right up your street." Mrs Hudson said as she came back into the living room. "Three, exactly the same."  
"Four." Sherlock corrected, "There's been a fourth. There's something different this time."  
"A fourth?" the landlady repeated. Just then, quick footsteps sounded up the stairs and Layton's ears perked up.  
"Where?" Sherlock simply asked.

A man with short grey hair and a suit came in. He appeared out of breath and replied,  
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."  
"What's new about this one?" Sherlock demanded. "You wouldn't have come and get me if there wasn't something different."  
"You know how they never leave notes? This one did. Will you come?"  
"Who's on forensics?"  
"Anderson."  
Sherlock made a displeased face before replying,  
"Anderson won't work with me." throughout the whole conversation, Charlotte's eyes had been darting between Sherlock and the man. She was growing more confused by the second, but also more intrigued.  
"Well he won't be your assistant," the man complained, sounding annoyed and impatient.  
"I _need_ an assistant." Sherlock insisted  
"Will you come?"  
"Not in a police car, I'll be right behind." the man nodded, looked at Charlotte and John, and descended the stairs.

There was a moment's silence in which John looked about confused and Charlotte frowned in confusion. Suddenly Sherlock jumped for joy, causing Charlotte to jump and Layton stand up with his tongue lolling out happily, and exclaimed, "Brilliant! Yes! Ah, four serial suicides and now a note, oh it's Christmas! Mrs Hudson, I'll be late, might need some food."  
"I'm your landlady dear, not your housekeeper," she said as if she had said it a hundred times already.  
"Something cold will do." he settled as he put on his dark blue scarf and long black coat. "John, Charlotte," he called from the kitchen, "have a cup of tea, make yourselves at home. Make sure that dog doesn't mess the flooring. Don't wait up!" and just like that he had swung open the kitchen door and swung it shut.

"Look at him, dashing about. My husband was just the same. But, you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll make you both that cuppa, you rest your leg." she rambled to John.  
"Damn my leg!" John shouted, causing Mrs Hudson to jump and Layton to pull back his ears. "Sorry, I'm so sorry. It's just sometimes this bloody thing..." he trailed off, knocking his right leg with his cane.  
"I understand dear, I've got a hip." the landlady sympathised.  
"A cup of tea would be lovely, thank you."  
"Just this once dear, I'm not your housekeeper."  
"A couple of biscuits too, if you have any." Charlotte tried, and was answered with the same sentence.

Layton laid on his stomach with his head on his paws and Charlotte unclipped his leash. He wouldn't be going anywhere if he wasn't told to. He very well trained by his previous owners, the police.  
"So Charlotte," she looked up to John, "what is it that you do?"  
"I'm a writer." she answered, "I mainly write children's book, especially crime and mystery. They love a good adventure, and if I'm honest so do I." she smiled, and John softly chuckled. Charlotte heard the door click and they both looked to see Sherlock standing in the doorway facing John.

"You're a doctor. In fact you're an army doctor."  
"Yes." John said, clearing his throat and standing up with help from his cane.  
"Any good?" Sherlock asked, pushing his hands into his gloves.  
"Very good."  
"Seen a lot of injuries then? Violent deaths?" he stepped further into the room.  
"Yes."  
"Bit of trouble too, I bet."  
"Of course, yes. Enough, for a lifetime. Far too much." John agreed, and Charlotte felt sorry for him. She couldn't even begin to imagine what war was like.  
"Want to see some more?"  
"Oh God, yes." John replied immediately. Charlotte lamely sat on the sofa, mouth opening and closing a couple of times in confusion.

"You're coming as well." Sherlock said turning to her, as if it were obvious,  
"Me?" she asked, her finger pointing to her chest.  
"Yes, you could use this for inspiration when you're writing. And just you. I don't think the police would appreciate a dog on a crime scene, even if it is an ex-police dog."  
"Wha- How did you know?"  
"Come on." he ignored her question, and continued down the stairs. She quickly told Layton to stay and be a good boy, before shutting the door behind her.  
"Sorry Mrs Hudson, Charlotte and I will be skipping the tea, we're off out." the doctor said when they reached the bottom of the stairs.  
"Yeah, and could you bring a bowl of water up for Layton? He hasn't got his things yet." the blonde woman asked of the landlady.  
"All three of you?" she asked, and Sherlock stopped striding for the front door and turned to Mrs Hudson.  
"Possible Suicides? Four of them? What's the point in sitting at home when there's finally something _fun_ going on?" he held her by the shoulders and placed a kiss on her.  
"Look at you, all happy. It's not decent,"  
"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" he proclaimed, and he strode out onto the street shouting "Taxi!"

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	3. Suitcase

The trio all piled into the taxi. First Sherlock, then John and Charlotte. Sherlock told the driver their destination and the car pulled away from Baker Street. There was silence in the cab as Sherlock checked his phone, but Charlotte could feel the excitement racing through her veins, and she guessed John was same too. It was dark by the time Sherlock spoke up.

"Okay, you've got questions," he said, stating the obvious.  
"Yeah, where are going?" John asked.  
"Crime scene. Next,"  
"What is it that you do?" Charlotte questioned,  
"What do you think?"  
"Private detective was my first guess, but the police don't go to private detectives." Charlotte answered, and Sherlock smiled before replying,  
"I'm a consulting detective. The only one in the world, I invented the job."  
"What does that mean?" John queried,  
"It means when the police are out of their depth, which is always, they consult me." He put it simply.  
"The police don't consult amateurs." John stated, and Charlotte hummed her agreement.  
"When I met you for the first time yesterday, I said 'Afghanistan or Iraq', you looked surprised, and Charlotte when I told you that Layton was an ex-police dog, you asked me how I knew."  
"Yes, how did you know?" John asked,

"I didn't know, I saw." He corrected, "Your haircut, the way you hold yourself says 'Military'. The conversation when you entered the room said 'trained at Bart's', so an army doctor. Obvious. Your face is tanned but no tan above the wrists; you've been abroad but not sunbathing. The limp's really bad when you walk but you don't ask for a chair when you stand, like you've forgotten about it, so it's at least partly psychosomatic. That says the original circumstances of the injury were traumatic; wounded in action then. Wounded in action, suntan, Afghanistan or Iraq." He explained rapid-fire, and as he did Charlotte looked at John and saw every bit of evidence that Sherlock had done.

"You said I had a therapist," John remembered,  
"You've got a psychosomatic limp, of course you've got a therapist." He said to the window, "Then there's your brother. Your phone; it's expensive, email enabled, MP3 player. You're looking for a flat share, you wouldn't waste money on this. It's a gift then. Scratches, not one but many over time. Its been in the same pocket as keys and coins. A man wouldn't treat his one luxury item like this so, its had a previous owner."  
"The engraving," the army doctor stated,

"'Harry Watson' clearly a family member who's given you his old phone. Not your father, this is a young man's gadget. Could be a cousin but you're a war hero who can't find a place to live; unlikely you've got an extended family, certainly not one you're close to, so brother it is. Now Clara, who's Clara? Three kisses says there's a romantic attachment, expensive phone says wife if not girlfriend. She must have given it to him recently, this model's only six months old. Marriage in trouble, then, six months old and he's just given it away. If she left him, he would've have kept it, people do, sentiment, but no. He wanted rid of it, he left her. He gave the phone to you, that says he wants you to stay in touch. You're looking for cheap accommodation but you're not going to your brother for help. That says you've got problems with, maybe you liked his wife, maybe you _don't _like his drinking."

"How can you possibly know about the drinking?" John questioned, while Charlotte just watched and listened with her mouth open.  
"Shot in the dark, a good one though." Sherlock praised himself, "Power connection. Tiny little scuff marks on the edge of it. Every night he goes to plug it in to charge, but his hands are shaking. You never see the marks on a sober man's phone, never see a drunk's without them." He concluded.

"And Charlotte," he started, "I saw your dog was an ex-police by its breed, how it acted, and the barely traceable limp in its back right leg. German Shepherds can be used as guard or search and rescue dogs, but are mainly used for police work such as drug detection, tracking, and cadaver searching. When we entered the flat he immediately began sniffing around as if he had been trained to do exactly that. German Shepherds are the third most intelligent dogs, obedient, loyal, confident, and curious, making them desirable for guard or police work. He's _ex_-police because he got injured, and even though it doesn't affect him he couldn't work for the force anymore. So, an ex-police dog who searched for drugs." He took a breath and continued,

"I also know that you are writer, partly because I heard your conversation with John but that only confirmed my thoughts after shaking your hand.  
"My hand?"  
"Yes. You have slightly calloused fingertips where you type, but ordinary laptops or computers don't have that effect so you must use something else. Most probably a typewriter because perhaps the sound helps you focus while you write. So, you're an author who probably writes crime or mystery since you're moving to central London where crime is at its peak." He finally finished, "There, you see? You were right."  
"Right about what?" both John and Charlotte asked,  
"The police don't insult amateurs."

"That… was amazing." John said after a brief pause.  
"I'm with you on that one. Mind-blowing." Charlotte nodded  
"Do you think so?" Sherlock asked,  
"Of course it was. It was extraordinary… quite extraordinary."  
Charlotte just nodded at loss for words about what the consultant detective and just done.  
"Not what people normally say." Sherlock voiced,  
"And what do people normally say?" Charlotte questioned  
"'Piss off'" he said, and three chuckled together.

They eventually reached their destination and they climbed out the cab, Charlotte slamming the door shut after them taking a place to the right of Sherlock.  
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock wondered, putting on his gloves.  
"Harry and me don't get on," John said as they walked towards the crime scene, "Never have. Clara and Harry split up three months ago and now they're getting a divorce. Harry is a drinker."  
"Layton _is _an ex-police dog, and I didn't think anyone noticed his limp before." Charlotte spoke, sounding impressed.  
"Spot on then. I didn't expect to be right about everything."  
"Harry's short for Harriet." John said  
"And Layton used to be a sniffer, tracker, _and _cadaver searching dog. Just saying," she shrugged. Sherlock stopped in his tracks,

"Harry's your sister,"  
"And what exactly are we supposed to be doing here?" John asked,  
"_Sister_." Sherlock near hissed,  
"Seriously, what are we doing here?" Charlotte repeated the army doctor,  
"Always something," Sherlock ignored them both.  
"Hello, freak." A dark woman with brown curls spoke from behind the police tape in front of them.  
"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock also ignored the woman's jibe.

"Why?" she asked,  
"I was invited," he answered, and Charlotte could tell he was doing his best to be polite. She could also smell some kind of fragrant… was it men's deodorant?  
"Why?" the woman repeated more sternly,  
"I think he wants me to take a look." He spoke as if she was an imbecile.  
"And you know what I think, don't you?" she feigned pleasantness,  
"Always, Sally." He responded, ducking under the tape. He took a whiff of the air, "You know you didn't make it home last night?"

Charlotte smirked. She was right, it _was_ men's deodorant she could smell. John motioned for her to go ahead of him as they stepped towards the tape.  
"Who's this?" Sally demanded, holding out a hand in front of them.  
"Colleagues of mine, Dr Watson and Miss Walker." Sherlock answered, "Dr Watson and Miss Walker, Sargent Sally Donavon. An old 'friend'."  
"Colleagues?" Donavon questioned, "How do you get colleagues? Did he follow you home?"  
"Would it be better if we just-" Charlotte began, but Sherlock cut her off.  
"No." he lifted up the police tape and they both hesitantly ducked under.

"Freak's here. Bringing him in." Donavon radioed, and lead them towards a house.  
"She seems nice." Charlotte muttered her breath to the boys. Sherlock smiled before twisting and turning to take in everything outside. A man in a forensics suit came out of the house.  
"Ah, Anderson, here we are again."  
"It's a crime scene and I don't want it contaminated, are we clear on that?" Anderson spoke with a nasally voice.  
"Quite clear. And his your wife away for long?"  
"Oh don't pretend you worked that out; somebody told you that." He dismissed.  
"Your deodorant told me that."  
"My deodorant?"  
"It's for men."  
"Well, of course it's for I'm wearing it." He exclaimed indignantly.  
"Sargent Donavon's wearing it too." Charlotte voiced. She was catching on to what Sherlock had discovered now, and she felt rather impish. Sherlock turned to Charlotte, a surprised yet impressed look on his face.

"Oof! And I think it's just vaporised." The consultant detective said, and Charlotte chuckled, "May I go in?"  
"Look, whatever you're trying to imply-"  
"We're not implying anything, I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat and just _happened_ to stay over." Sherlock teased.  
"And going on the state of her knees, I assumed she scrubbed your floors, too." Charlotte said. Even though she barely knew them, Charlotte felt that they deserved a bit of public embarrassment. Sherlock smirked at her and strode through the front door, the blonde following and also John who sent a not-so-subtle glance to Donavon's knees.

The door slammed shut behind them and the trio walked into a room that had been turned into the main room for the investigation.  
"Put on one of these," Sherlock instructed, pointing to a pile of blue suits.  
"Who's this?" the man, whom she assumed was Lestrade, questioned.  
"They're with me."  
"But who are they?" Lestrade insisted.  
"I said they're with me." Sherlock repeated firmly. Charlotte and John removed their coats and proceeded to put on the forensic suits.

"Aren't you gonna put one one?" John asked. Instead of answering him, Sherlock ignored him and continued to put on a pair of rubber gloves.  
"Where are we?" he asked the detective inspector,  
"Upstairs." He answered, "I can give you two minutes."  
"May need longer," Sherlock voiced, as they all trekked up the multiple flights of stairs.  
"Her name's Jennifer Wilson according to her credit cards, we're running them now for contact details. Hasn't been here long, some kids found her." Lestrade explained, and they entered the room containing the corpse.

When she entered the room, Charlotte gasped softly when she saw the body. Sure, she was used to _writing _about dead bodies in her unpublished stories for a more mature audience, but she had never actually seen one. Jennifer Wilson was lying face down in the middle of the room, wearing a bright pink suit jacket and matching skirt. There was silence as Sherlock presumably observed everything he could.  
"Shut up." Sherlock broke the silence  
"I didn't say anything," Lestrade retorted,  
"You were thinking, it's annoying."

Lestrade glanced at Charlotte and she shrugged. Sherlock, John, and Charlotte stepped closer to the body, and she could see the word 'Rache' scratched into the wooden floor to left of the corpse. Charlotte looked at Wilson's left hand and her presumption was proved right. Wilson was left handed. Without knowing it, Charlotte moved past Sherlock and to the front of the body. She did this often, going off into her own little world when she observed people, making deductions and sometimes accidently talking out loud.

'Rache' was the second thing to come to Charlotte's mind. It could be that Jennifer Wilson was attempting to write the name Rachel but never finished. Charlotte crouched down as Sherlock did, and closely examined the body without touching it. Sherlock's hand swept over the woman's coat and his glove's fingers came back wet. He continued to search her pockets and pulled out a pocket umbrella that was dry. Then Sherlock's fingers brushed under Wilson's coat collar, which was also wet. Charlotte looked at the evidence and though that Jennifer Wilson had been somewhere that was very rainy and also windy enough that she couldn't use the feeble pocket umbrella.

She looked up to see Sherlock looking at her, a silent question in his eyes and she nodded to show that she thought the same as him. The consulting detective whipped out a mini magnifying glass and examined the woman's jewellery. Her bracelet, earrings, then necklace, and they were all clean. He proceeded to observe her wedding ring. Unlike her other jewellery, it was dirty. An obvious sign of her state of marriage; married unhappily for ten or more years.

Sherlock smoothly removed it, and found the ring was clean on the inside. She regularly removed it, then. But why? She wouldn't have taken it off to do work with her hands since her nails were recently manicured. An unhappy marriage, a regularly removed ring… Charlotte finally understood. Jennifer Wilson was an adulterer. She smiled a little to herself, mentally patting herself on the back for making this discovery.

"Got anything?" asked Lestrade,  
"Not much," Sherlock answered, standing up and removing his rubber gloves. Charlotte stood too.  
"She's German," a voice stated from the doorway. They all turned to find Anderson leaning against the wood. "'Rache', German for revenge. She could be trying to tell us somethi-"  
"Yes, thank you for your input." Sherlock replied, slamming the door right in Anderson's face as he looked at his phone screen. Charlotte pressed her lips together to keep from chuckling.

"So she's German?"  
"No, Detective Inspector." Charlotte answered,  
"She's out of town though," Sherlock added, "Staying in London for one night, before returning home to Cardiff." He put away his phone, "So far so obvious."  
"Sorry- Obvious?" John repeated,  
"What about the message?" Lestrade questioned,  
"Dr Watson, what do you think?"

John turned to look at Sherlock, and Charlotte turned to look at John.  
"Of the message?"  
"Of the body," said Sherlock, "you're a medical man."  
"We have a whole team right outside," argued Lestrade,  
"They won't work with me."  
"I'm breaking every rule letting _you _in here, I-"  
"Yes, because you need me."  
"Yes I do. God help me."  
"Dr Watson?"

John turned to the Detective Inspector for consent.  
"I'd just do what he says, help yourself." Gestured Lestrade and he left the room leaving the trio on their own. John knelt down next to the corpse with some difficulty, and Charlotte and Sherlock joined him.  
"What am I doing here?" the army doctor inquired,  
"Helping me make a point," whispered Sherlock,  
"We're supposed to be helping you pay the rent." Charlotte stated in a hushed voice,  
"Well this more fun," Sherlock countered,  
"Fun?" she repeated, "There's a woman lying dead right in front of you." she whispered incredulously,  
"Perfectly sound analysis but I was hoping you'd go deeper."  
Charlotte was about to retort when John cleared his throat and Lestrade entered the room.

The good doctor closely examined the corpse of Jennifer Wilson and announced,  
"Yep. Asphyxiation, probably; passed out, choked on her own vomit. Can't smell any alchohol on her, could've been a seizure- possibly drugs."  
"You know what it was, you've read the papers," Sherlock stated,  
"She's one of the suicides?" John clarified,  
"The fourth one?" Charlotte asked,  
"'Two minutes' I said, I need anything you got," Lestrade reminded them,  
"Victim is in her late thirties, professional person going by her clothes; I'm guessing something in the media, going by the frankly alarming shade of pink. Travelled from Cardiff today, intending to stay in London for one night. It's obvious from the size of her suitcase." Sherlock said, standing up as John struggled to his feet and Charlotte rose too.  
"Suitcase?" repeated Lestrade. John and Charlotte looked around the room, but couldn't see a suitcase anywhere.

"Suitcase, yes. She's been married at least ten years, but not happily. She's had a string of lovers but none of them knew she was married."  
"Oh, for God's sake, if you're just making this up…"  
"Her wedding ring." Sherlock began to explain, pointing at the body, "Ten years old at least. The rest of her jewellery has been regularly cleaned, but not her wedding ring. State of her marriage right there. The inside of the ring is shinier than the outside – that means it's regularly removed. The only polishing it gets is when she works it off her finger. It's not for work; look at her nails. She doesn't work with her hands, so what or rather who _does_ she remove her rings for? Clearly not _one_ lover; she'd never sustain the fiction of being single over that amount of time, so more likely a string of them. Simple."

Charlotte allowed herself a small proud smile as Sherlock confirmed her deductions about the woman's life before she had perished.  
"That's brilliant." John said admiringly,  
"I have to agree," Charlotte hummed, looking at Sherlock. He looked round at both of them.  
"Sorry." Apologised John, but Charlotte just shrugged.  
"Cardiff?" Lestrade queried  
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Sherlock said,  
"It's not obvious to me." John voiced. Sherlock paused before replying,  
"Dear God, what is it like in your funny little brains? It must be so boring." He turned back to Wilson's corpse. "Her coat: it's slightly damp. She's been in heavy rain in the last few hours. No rain anywhere in London in that time. Under-" Charlotte cut him off. She just couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Under her coat collar is damp, too. She's turned it up against the wind. She's got an umbrella in her left-hand pocket but it's unused and dry: not just wind, _strong_ wind – too strong to use her umbrella."  
Sherlock frowned at her with curiosity before continuing, glacier eyes boring into hers until her carried on with his reasoning.  
"We know from her suitcase that she was intending to stay overnight, so she must have come a decent distance but she can't have travelled more than two or three hours because her coat still hasn't dried. So, where has there been heavy rain and strong wind within the radius of that travel time?" Sherlock asked, and he retrieved his phone from his pocket and showed to the other three in turn. When it reached Charlotte's eyes, she could see that it displayed today's weather in the southern part of Britain. "Cardiff."

"That's fantastic!" the doctor exclaimed,  
"D'you know you do that out loud?" Sherlock turned to him, speaking in a low voice.  
"Sorry. I'll shut up."  
"No, it's ... fine."  
Charlotte smirked. She guessed Sherlock didn't exactly get _praised_ for what he did, but he was enjoying what John was giving him.  
"Why d'you keep saying suitcase?" Lestrade questioned, and the consultant detective spun around in a circle to look around the room.  
"Yes, where is it? She must have had a phone or an organiser. Find out who Rachel is."  
"She was writing 'Rachel'?"

"No, she was leaving an angry note in German! Of _course_ she was writing Rachel; no other word it can be." Sherlock replies sarcastically, "Question is: why did she wait until she was dying to write it?"  
"How d'you know she had a suitcase?" asked Lestrade,  
Sherlock pointed down to the body, where her tights were covered in tiny small splash marks on her calf. "Back of the right leg: tiny splash marks on the heel and calf, not present on the left. She was dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her with her right hand. Don't get that splash pattern any other way. Smallish case, going by the spread. Case that size, woman this clothes-conscious: could only be an overnight bag, so we know she was staying one night."

Sherlock squatted by the woman's body and inspected the backs more closely.  
"Now, where is it? What have you done with it?"  
"There wasn't a case." Lestrade answered,  
Slowly, Sherlock raised his head and frowned up at Lestrade.  
"Say that again."  
"There wasn't a case. There was never any suitcase."  
Immediately Sherlock straightened up and headed for the door, calling out to all the police officers in the house as he began to hurry down the stairs.  
"Suitcase! Did anyone find a suitcase? Was there a suitcase in this house?"  
Lestrade, Charlotte, and John followed him out and stopped on the landing.  
"Sherlock, there was no case!" Lestrade called down the stairs.

"But they take the poison themselves; they chew, swallow the pills themselves. There are clear signs, even you lot couldn't miss them." He said, slowing down but still making his way down the stairs.  
"Right, yeah, thanks!" Lestrade shouted, as if what Sherlock had said was useful, "_And_ ...?"  
"It's murder, all of them. I don't know how, but they're not suicides, they're killings – _serial_ killings." The consultant explained. Sherlock had an excited smile on his face, "We've got ourselves a serial killer. I _love_ those. There's always something to look forward to."

"Why are you saying that?" the DI shouted downstairs,  
"Her case! Come on, where is her case? Did she eat it? Someone else was here, and they took her case." He called up to the other officers, "So the killer must have driven her here; forgot the case was in the car." Sherlock said, more to himself.  
"She could have checked into a hotel, left her case there." John suggested,  
Sherlock looked up the stairs again, "No, she never got to the hotel. Look at her hair. She colour-coordinates her lipstick and her shoes. She'd never have left any hotel with her hair still looking…" he stopped talking all together, and Charlotte's eyes went wide with realisation.

"Oh." Sherlock gasped. His eyes widen and his face lit up, "_Oh!_", he clapped his hands in delight.  
_ "_Sherlock?" John tried,  
"What is it, what?" Lestrade asked, leaning over the bannister.  
"Pink." Muttered Charlotte,  
"What?" John looked utterly confused.  
"Serial killers are always hard. You have to wait for them to make a mistake." Sherlock smiled cheerfully at himself,  
"We can't just wait!" exclaimed Lestrade,

"Oh, we're _done_ waiting!" Sherlock assured, and hurried down the stairs again. "Look at her, really _look_! Houston, we _have_ a mistake. Get on to Cardiff: find out who Jennifer Wilson's family and friends were. Find Rachel!" he ordered, reaching the bottom of the stairs and disappearing from view.  
"Of course, yeah – but what mistake?!" Lestrade called after him. Sherlock came back into view and ran up a couple of steps before yelling up to the three of them,  
"_PINK!_" he hurried off again. Lestrade, baffled, turned and went back into the room while Anderson and his team hurry up the stairs and follow him.

**REVIEW REPLIES**

TaylorRiley17_: I'm glad you love it! hope you enjoy this chappie :)_

essenceofpink_: here is more for you ;) in terms of fluff, ive got stuff planned for Lottie & Sherlock (and Layton and Sherlock too!)_

The Inquirer_: im elevated that my story got your attention on the 1st chapter! (I must be doing something right) enjoy this one too!_

Guest_: here is more for you too :)_

**Question time: What do you think of Layton and Charlotte so far? Leave your answers in the reviews ^_^**


	4. Not-Anthea

**Someone asked me how tall Charlotte was, so I'll put it on here. Lottie is 5'6", which is the same height as John (and also still taller than me!) On with the show! :)**

Forgotten by everyone else, Charlotte and John hesitated on the landing for a moment before slowly making their way downstairs. A couple more police officers rushed upstairs and one bumped into John, throwing him off-balance and making him lurch heavily against the bannister. Charlotte tutted loudly at them, but they carried on. Shortly afterwards, they had removed their coveralls and put their jackets back on.

"Where's Sherlock?" Charlotte asked when they had walked out onto the street. Looking around, John could see no sign of Sherlock.  
"I don't know," he hummed and, still looking around, the two walked towards the police tape where Donavon was standing.  
"He's gone," the sergeant stated,  
"Who, Sherlock Holmes?" John asked,  
"Yeah, he just took off. He does that." Charlotte rolled her eyes at Donovan's negativity towards Sherlock,  
"Is he coming back?"  
"Didn't look like it,"  
"Right," John simply said, and glanced around thoughtfully.

"Right… yes." He repeated, and Charlotte looked at Donovan said,  
"Where exactly are we?"  
"Brixton." The darker haired woman replied,  
"D'you know where we could get a cab? It's just, er… well…" John muttered, looking down awkwardly at his walking stick, "my leg."  
Donovan stepped over to the tape and lifted it for them.  
"Try the main road," she suggested. The two blondes uttered their thanks as they ducked under the tape, "But you're not his friend." Donovan added. John and Charlotte turned to look at the sergeant. "He doesn't _have _friends, so who _are_ you?"

"I'm… we're nobody. We've just met him," John said for them both,  
"Okay, bit of advice then: stay away from guy." Donovan replied,  
"Why?" Charlotte questioned, tilted her head to the right,  
"You know why he's here? He's not paid or anything. He likes it. He gets off on it. The weirder the crime, the more he gets off. And you know what? One day just showing up won't be enough. One day we'll be standing round a body and Sherlock Holmes'll be the one that put it there."  
"Why would he do that?" John asked.

"Because he's a psychopath. And psychopaths get bored." She answered, and then Lestrade's voice beckoned her from the entrance to the house. "Coming!" she responded, and turned back towards Charlotte and John as she walked towards the house. "Stay away from Sherlock Holmes." Donovan warned them. They watched her go for a moment, contemplating on what she had just said, then turned and began to walk off down the road together in silence.

To the right, a phone in a red telephone box began to ring. Charlotte and John stopped and looked at it for a few seconds, but John looked down at his watch and shook his head,  
"It's getting late," John stated, and she looked to her own watch,  
"Let's find that main road then,"  
The two continued down the road, and the phone stopped ringing.

John and Charlotte were walking along the main road, and the doctor attempted to hail a passing black cab, "Taxi! Taxi…" he tried, but the vehicle passed him by. Charlotte sighed, and a payphone from inside a Chicken Cottage began to ring. The two turned to look at it as a member of staff went to answer it, but it ceased just as they reached for the phone. John walked on down the road and Charlotte frowned before catching up with him.

Shortly afterwards, they came across another phone ringing inside a telephone box and John turned to Charlotte.  
"Answer it," she nodded towards it, hands buried in her jacket's pockets. John pulled open the door and answered the phone.  
"Hello?" he said. Charlotte walked over to the box and open the door so she could listen in and lean against the door frame. "Who's this? Who's speaking?" he asked, and a moment later, looked through the glass at a building. "Yeah, I see it." Charlotte did the same and saw a security camera do a little wiggle before swivelling away. Were they being watched?

John looked in another direction and Charlotte followed his gaze and saw another camera turn away. She followed John's head again, seeing a third camera twist away. They _were_ being watched.  
"How are you doing this?" John questioned, and a second later a sleek black car pulled up at the kerbside near the phonebox. A man got out and opened the car door.  
"What's going on?" Charlotte whispered to John,  
"I'm not sure…"  
"Should we get in?"  
"There's not much else we can do," he answered, and limped into the car with Charlotte following.

They were sitting in the back of the car with a young woman, and John was seated between the two females.  
"Hello," he greeted,  
"Hi," the woman replied, looking up from her phone and smiling brightly at him before looking down again.  
"What's your name, then?" he inquired, and Charlotte gazed out the window, watching the nightlife go by.  
"Er… Anthea"  
"Is that your real name?"  
"No," 'Anthea' smiled, and there was pause before John spoke,  
"I'm John,"  
"Yes. I know." She responded, "And you're Charlotte." At the sound of her name, Charlotte spun to look at the woman before her. She had an expensive phone and clothing, and they were in an expensive car, so Charlotte guessed that she had an employer who was rich and probably _very_ important.

"Is there a point in asking where we going?" She asked,  
"None at all…" Anthea answered, "Charlotte,"  
"Okay," John simply said.  
Some time later, the car pulled into an almost-empty warehouse. A man in a three-piece suit was standing in the centre of the area, leaning non-chalantly on an umbrella as he watched the blondes get out. In front of the man were two armless chairs facing him. He gestured to it with the point of his umbrella as the two approached him.

"Have a seat John, Charlotte," but the couple only continued towards him, passing the seats.  
"You know, I've got a phone," John said, voice calm, "I mean, very clever and all that, but er… you could just phone me. On my phone."  
Charlotte decided to remain quiet, John could handle this one, she was a little nervous about getting into a mysterious car and getting dropped off in a warehouse.  
"When one is avoiding the attention of Sherlock Holmes, one learns to be discreet, hence this place." The man said pleasantly, but his voice took a stern tone, "The leg must be hurting you. Sit down."

"I don't wanna sit down," John replied. _Yeah, you tell him John. _Charlotte mentally cheered. The man looked at them both.  
"You don't seem very afraid," he said to John, "but you look a little nervous." He looked to Charlotte.  
"Well, it's not every day you get escorted to a warehouse." She retorted,  
"And you don't seem very frightening," John added, and the man chuckled.

"Ah yes. The bravery of the soldier. Bravery is by far the kindest word for stupidity, don't you think?" he looked to the both of them sternly. "What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?"  
"I don't have one. I barely know him. I met him yesterday." John answered, and the man looked towards Charlotte arching an eyebrow.  
"Exactly the same, except I only met him today,"  
"Mmm, and since yesterday you've moved in with him and now you're solving crimes together. Might we expect a happy announcement by the end of the week?" he looked to Charlotte as he asked the question.

"Who are you?" questioned John,  
"An interested party," the man replied,  
"Interested in Sherlock? But why? I can't imagine you're friends," Charlotte spoke up.  
"You've met him. How many 'friends' do you imagine he has? I am the closest thing to a friend that Sherlock Holmes is capable of having."  
"And what's that?"  
"An enemy."

"An enemy?" John repeated,  
"In _his _mind, certainly. If you were to ask him, he'd probably say his _arch_-enemy. He does love to be dramatic."  
John and Charlotte, as if in synch, looked pointedly around the warehouse.  
"Well. Thank God _you're _above all that," John said sarcastically. The man frowned at him, and just then both John's and Charlotte's phone trilled text alerts. She dug into her pockets and checked the message while ignoring the man in front of her.

_Baker Street.  
Come at once  
if convenient.  
SH_

"I hope I'm not distracting the both of you," the man spoke,  
"Not distracting me at all," John said casually, looking up from his phone before pocketing it.  
"Do you plan to continue your association with Sherlock Holmes?" the man asked,  
"I could be wrong… but I think that's none of your business," John sassed, and Charlotte smirked.  
"It _could_ be," the man spoke a little ominously,  
"It _really_ couldn't," Charlotte countered. The man took a notebook from his inside pocket, then opened it and consulted it as he spoke.

"If you _do_ move into, um ... two hundred and twenty-one _B_ Baker Street, I'd be happy to pay you a meaningful sum of money on a regular basis to ease your way." The man closed his book and put it away. Meaningful sum of money? It _was _rather tempting…  
"Why?" asked John,  
"Because you're not wealthy people," the man replied,  
"In exchange for what?" Charlotte inquired,  
"Information," the man answered, "Nothing indiscreet. Nothing you'd feel… uncomfortable with. Just tell me what he's up to."

"Why?" John repeated himself,  
"I worry about him. Constantly."  
Worry about him? Why would an enemy _worry_ about you?  
"That's nice of you," John stated insincerely,  
"But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you might call a ... difficult relationship." Charlotte and John both received another text. This time it read:

_If inconvenient,  
come anyway.  
SH_

"No." John answered the man's offer, and he turned an arched eyebrow to Charlotte,  
"No way," she answered, lifting her chin a little.  
"But I haven't mentioned a figure," the man countered,  
"Don't bother," Charlotte and John spoke simultaneously, and the man laughed briefly.  
"You're both very loyal, _very_ quickly." The man said,  
"No, we're not. We're just not that interested," Charlotte spoke.

The man looked at them closely for a moment before fishing out his notebook again.  
"'Trust issues', it says here," the man gestured toward the notebook, and for the first time since their encounter, John looked a little unnerved.  
"What's that?" John asked,  
"Could it be that you've decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"  
"Who says I trust him?" John contradicted,  
"You don't seem the kind to make friends easily," the man said, and he looked to Charlotte, "and neither do you. Your closest friend in the past five years is an ex-police dog."  
Charlotte frowned, slightly offended. So what if she preferred Layton's company? People could be two-faced and mean, she knew that.

"Are we done?" John asked, sensing the tension. The man raised his head and eyed the both of them.  
"You tell me." The man said. John looked at him for a long moment, then turned and nodded at Charlotte for them to leave. "I imagine people have already warned you to stay away from him, but I can see from your left hand that's not going to happen." And John stopped dead. His shoulders tensed, and he turned back towards the man, clearly furious.

"My what?" he asked through his teeth.  
"Show me," the man said calmly. He nodded towards left hand. John stayed where he was and lifted his hand. His message was clear: if the man wanted to look at his hand, he'll have to come to _him_. Unperturbed by his belligerence, the man strolled forward and reached for John's hand.  
"Don't." John spoke tensely, pulling his hand back a little. The man lowered his head and raised his eyebrows at John, as if saying, 'Did I mention trust issues?'. John reluctantly lowered his hand.

The man took it in both of his, "Remarkable," he said, and John snatched his hand away.  
"What is?" he demanded,  
"Most people blunder round this city, and all they see are streets and shops and cars. When you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield. You've seen it already, haven't you?  
"What's wrong with my hand?"  
"You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand." The man said, and John nodded. "Your therapist thinks it's post-traumatic stress disorder. She thinks you're haunted by memories of your military service."

John almost flinched as the man accurately fired off facts at him. His gaze was fixed ahead of him, and a muscle was twitching in his cheeks.  
"Who the hell _are_ you?" Charlotte demanded, not liking the way this man was treating them,  
"How do you know that?" John added.  
"Fire her," advised the man, "She's got it the wrong way round. You're under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady." John's and Charlotte's eyes flickered down to his hand before looking back at the man.

"You're not haunted by the war, Doctor Watson… you miss it," the man spoke, "Welcome back," he whispered to John. He turned and started to walk away as their phone jingled again. "Time to choose a side, Doctor Watson, Miss Walker." He said as he casually twirled his umbrella around. They both stood still for a few seconds, glancing at each other. A car door behind them opened and not-Anthea got out.

"I'm to take you home." She announced, eyes glued to her Blackberry. Charlotte looked at the woman before checking her phone.

_Could be dangerous.  
SH_

She returned the phone to her pocket, and caught John smiling wryly at his still hand.  
"Address?" Anthea asked,  
"Er, Baker Street. 221b Baker Street," John asked, as the two walked towards the car, "But I need to stop off somewhere first, if that's alright," he looked to Charlotte and she nodded.

* * *

Later, John opened the door into his bedsit and switched on the light. In the dark area, Charlotte could see the basic necessities: a desk, kitchen, and a bed in the corner. It was smaller compared to Charlotte's place, _old _place, she hoped. John limped over to the desk and opened the drawer, taking out a pistol. He checked the clip and tucked the gun into the back of his jeans.

"A gun?" Charlotte voiced, and John turned to look at her,  
"Well, seems we might need it with Sherlock Holmes." He explained, opening the door and holding it open for her. They were once again in the sleek car, and had just pulled up outside 221b when John started talking to Anthea.

"Listen, your boss – any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?" John asked,  
"Sure." She answered non-chalantly,  
"You've already told him, haven't you?" Charlotte guessed, and Anthea smiled briefly across at her,  
"Yeah," and with that, Charlotte climbed out of the car and waited for John by the front door.

After a moment, the doctor got out and watched the car pull away before turning and walking to the front door.  
"Any luck?" Charlotte smirked, knowing exactly what John had thought of Not-Anthea,  
"No," he said, shaking his head and knocking on the door.

**REVIEW REPLIES :)**

** 00**: Glad I cheered you up, I hope you get better soon :)

** .Uchicha:**I was going to have Charlotte warn Sherlock about experimenting on the dog, so don't worry, that'll definitely be in there ;) here's more for you to read

**88dragon06:**Interesting indeed! here's more for ya :)

**Mad mind flip:**Yeah, I guess Lottie is like a not-as-good consultant detective but she is more 'human' than Sherlock (although we all know from the reichenbach fall that her has a heart (': ) Layton scenes coming soon!

**The Inquirer:**You're correct, I named Layton after my 2nd favourite detective, Professor Layton :D Here's Charlotte's reaction to Mycroft, I hope you enjoy. and Moriarty... we'll have to see ;)

**Right! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I just wanted to let you know that chapters won't be as regular as they were at first but I promise that you will have at least one chapter a week :)**

**Question time! When do ****_you_**** think Charlotte and Sherlock should do the deed (kiss)? I have a couple of scenes in mind but I want the reader's opinion :)**


	5. Three Patch Problem

John and Charlotte clambered up the numerous stairs to the living room, where Sherlock was stretched out on the sofa. Layton was lying down on the floor next to Sherlock, and immediately got up to greet his owner, wagging tail and all. Charlotte knelt down and scratched behind his ears, looking at Sherlock. He was repeatedly clenching and unclenching his fist.  
"What are you doing?" She asked, arching an eyebrow at the man,  
"Nicotine patch," he replied calmly, "helps me think." Sherlock lifted his hand away from his arm to reveal three patches stuck to his arm. "Impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London these days. Bad news for brain work." The detective said, loudly clicking the 'k' in 'work'.

John walked further into the room,  
"Good news for breathing," he contradicted,  
"Ugh, breathing. Breathing's boring." Sherlock argued,  
"Is that three patches?" John asked, frowning as he looked more closely at the other man's arm. He steepled his hands under his chin and responded,  
"It's a three patch problem."

_That's_ something Charlotte had never heard before, but she was beginning to suspect that it wouldn't be the last time she would be surprised by Sherlock Holmes. She stood and walked over to the armchair John had been sitting in earlier, Layton following and sitting dutifully next to her.  
"Well?" John quizzed, but Sherlock didn't respond.  
"You asked us to come, so I assume it's important." Charlotte voiced, crossing her legs. Sherlock didn't react immediately, but after a couple of seconds his eyes snapped open.

"Oh, yeah, of course. Can I borrow your phone?" he asked, not bothering to turn his head.  
"My phone?" She repeated,  
"Don't wanna use mine; Always a chance that the number will be recognised. It's on the website." He explained,  
"Our landlady's got a phone, you know," she reminded him,  
"Yeah, she's downstairs. I tried shouting but she didn't hear."

John was growing angry,  
"We _were_ on the other side of London,"  
"There was no hurry," the detective mildly replied. John glared at him as Sherlock gazed serenely at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. Eventually John dug out his phone and held it towards him.  
"Here, use mine." He offered. Without opening his eyes, Sherlock held out his hand. John glowered at him, before he slapped the phone into his hand and walked a few paces away.

He bent slightly to stroke Layton on the head, the Shepherd's tongue appearing as he enjoyed the affection, before turning back to the pale man reclined on the sofa.  
"So what's this about- the case?" he guessed.  
"Her case," Sherlock and Charlotte spoke at the same time but softly so that they didn't hear each other and John glanced between them.  
"_Her_ case?"  
"Her suitcase, yes, obviously." Sherlock said, opening his eyes, "The murderer took her suitcase. First big mistake."

"Okay, he took her case. So?" John queried,  
"It's no use, there's no other way. We'll have to risk it." Sherlock spoke quietly, as if to himself, "On my desk there's a number. I want you to send a text," he declared a little louder, imperiously holding out John's phone towards its owner. John half-smiled in angry disbelief, and Charlotte's eyebrows rose at the consultant's laziness.

"You brought us here… to send a text," the doctor dead-panned tightly, although Sherlock appeared oblivious to his anger.  
"Text, yes. The number on my desk. And it's just you sending the text, not Charlotte." He said, still not bothering to move his head. John continued to glower at him, possibly wondering if he can get away with justifiable homicide. Eventually he stomped across the room and snatched the phone from Sherlock's hand. Sherlock refolded his hands under his chin but instead of going to the table, John walked over to window peering into the street below.

Sherlock noticed and tilted his head to look at Charlotte, who looked distracted, stroking Layton with a slight frown, and then to John.  
"What's wrong?" Sherlock questioned, looking between the doctor and the author.  
"Just met a friend of yours," John was the first to answer, and Sherlock frowned in confusion.  
"A friend?"  
"An enemy," Charlotte corrected, and the detective immediately relaxed.  
"Oh, which one?" he asked calmly,  
"Any _arch_ -enemies ring a bell?" she replied, a small side-smile beginning to form.

"Do people _have_ arch-enemies?" John turned to Sherlock.  
"Only in fiction," Charlotte responded, "although I imagine it's something easy to gain if you act the right way." She thought aloud. It probably wasn't unlikely that Sherlock had made some enemies by the way he operated. Sherlock looked at the two blondes, narrowing his eyes suspiciously,  
"Did he offer you money to spy on me?"  
"Yes," answered John,  
"Did you take it?"  
"No," the doctor answered again.

"Pity. We could have split the fee. Think it through next time." Sherlock mildly reprimanded.  
"Who is he anyways?" Charlotte asked, curiosity getting the better of her.  
"The most dangerous man you've ever met, and not my problem right now." He said softly, "On my desk, the number." He prompted John. John walked over to the desk and picks up a piece of paper.  
"Jennifer Wilson." He read, and Charlotte eyes widened slightly, "That was… Hang on. Wasn't that the dead woman?"  
"Yes. That's not important. Just enter the number."

Shaking his head, John starts to type out the number,  
"Are you doing it?"  
"Yes,"  
"Have you done it?" Sherlock sounded impatient,  
"Ye- hang on!"  
"These words exactly," Sherlock instructed, "'What happened at Lauriston Gardens? I must have blacked out.'"

John began to type but he and Charlotte looked briefly across to Sherlock as if concerned at what he just said.

"'Twenty-two Northumberland Street. Please come.'" He finished.  
"You blacked out?" Charlotte asked, worried.  
"What? No. No!" he answered, flipping his legs around, standing up, and walking on top of the coffee table, "Type and send it. Quickly." He ordered, striding past Charlotte. He came back from the kitchen with a small pink suitcase that Charlotte realised was Jennifer Wilson's.

"Have you sent it?" he questioned John, and he asked for the address again. Sherlock unzipped the case and flipped open the lid. Charlotte moved to the edge of her seat, and Layton stepped closer, sniffing briefly. John turned and staggered slightly in shock as he realised what he was looking at.  
"That's the pink lady's case. That's Jennifer Wilson's case." John continued to stare, and Sherlock rolled his eyes at the pair of them, and Layton included.

"Oh, perhaps I should mention: I _didn't_ kill her." He announced sarcastically,  
"Never said you did," Charlotte finally spoke, looking up from the case, and Sherlock regarded her with piercing blue eyes, tilting his head,  
"Why not? Given the text John just sent and the fact that I have her case, it's a perfectly logical assumption." He said, their gaze not breaking.  
"Do people usually assume you're the murderer?" she arched an eyebrow.

"Now and then, yes," he smirked at her, and returned his eyes to the contents of the case.  
John walked over to the armchair and Charlotte rose so he could sit, and she perched on the arm instead as Layton sat happily in front of Sherlock beside the suitcase.  
"How did you get this?" John asked,  
"By looking" the other man simply answered  
"Where?" Charlotte enquired,

"The killer must have driven her to Lauriston Gardens," Sherlock began, "He could only keep her case by accident; it was in the car. Nobody could be seen with case without drawing attention to themselves, particularly a man which is statistically more likely. So obviously he'd feel compelled to get rid of it the moment he noticed he still had it. It wouldn't take more than five minutes to realise his mistake. I checked every back street large enough for a car five minutes from Lauriston Gardens, and anywhere you could dispose of a bulky object without being observed. Took me less than an hour to find the right skip."

"Pink. You got all that because you realised the case would be pink." John voiced,  
"It'd have to pink obviously," Sherlock stated,  
"Why didn't I think of that?"  
"Well, I kind of did... actually..." Charlotte mumbled quietly,

"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock answered, and the other two looked at him in mild shock, "No no no, don't be like that," he said, waving hand, "Practically everyone is- perhaps apart from you." he said, looking to Charlotte.  
"What?" she stuttered,  
"I saw you, when we were at the crime scene. You could see everything I could." he was still looking at her.  
"Oh, well I...I...just saw what I saw." she mumbled, looking at her lap before Sherlock continued with his work.

"Now look, do you see what's missing?"  
Charlotte glanced at the suitcase. It was full of clothes, a book, and makeup... but there was something missing. A mobile? They found no mobile on the body and she wouldn't have left it at home. The killer still had the phone, it dawned on her.  
"Her phone." Sherlock confirmed her suspicions. "Where's her mobile phone? There was no phone on the body, no phone in the case. We know she had one, that's her number there you just texted."

"Maybe she left it at home," John suggested.  
"She was a serial adulterer and was vigilant about it; she never left her phone at home." Charlotte dismissed, and Sherlock smirked again.  
"Exactly." he agreed.  
John mumbled before coming to a realisation.  
"Why did I just send that text?" he pointed to his phone.

"The question is, where is her phone now?" the detective ignored John's question,  
"She could've lost it," he tried, and Charlotte shook her head.  
"Or?" Sherlock prompted,  
"The murderer. You think the murderer has the phone." John realised.  
"Maybe she left it when she left her case, maybe he took it from her for some reason. Either way, the balance of probability is that the murderer has her phone." Sherlock put forward.

"What are we doing- did I just text a murderer?" the doctor looked to Sherlock, "What good will that do?"  
Just then, John's phone began to ring, and Layton cocked his head to the side. Charlotte could see the screen read:

_(withheld)  
calling_

"A few hours after his last victim and now he receives a text that can only be from her." Sherlock said, as the phone kept ringing, "If somebody just found that phone they'd ignore a text like that, but the murderer..." the phone ceased ringing, "Would panic," and Sherlock quickly shut the suitcase and rose from his chair as John and Charlotte kept staring at the phone.

"Have you talked to the police about this?" She asked as she stood and Sherlock buttoned up his jacket.  
"Four people are dead, there isn't time to talk to the police."  
"So why're you talking to us?" John exclaimed,  
"Mrs Hudson took my skull," Sherlock frowned, and grabbed his coat from the door.  
"So we're basically filling in for your skull?"

"Relax, you're doing fine. Well?" Sherlock was shrugging on his coat.  
"Well what?" John sounded irritated.  
"You could just there and watch tele or pet the dog."  
"Hey!" Charlotte frowned  
"You want us to come with you?" John verified.  
"I like company when I go out, and I think better when I talk aloud. The skull just attracts attention, so..."

Charlotte scoffed,  
"Problem?" Sherlock asked,  
"Yeah, Sergeant Donovan," John began,  
"What about her?"  
"She said you get off on this, you enjoy it."  
"And I said 'dangerous', and here you both are," Sherlock countered, and walked swiftly through the door.  
"Damn it." John cursed under his breath at the same time that Charlotte told Layton to stay, who gladly obliged.

The trio were crossing the road, Sherlock in the middle leading them to where ever it was they were going.

"Where are we going?" John asked,  
"Northumberland Street, it's a five minute walk from here." Sherlock answered.  
"You think he's stupid enough to go there?" John questioned, remembering the text he had sent earlier.  
"No, I think he's brilliant enough." the taller man sounded excited, "I love the brilliant ones, they're always desperate to get caught."

"Get caught... Why?" John repeated,  
"Appreciation." Charlotte answered, striding to keep up with Sherlock's pace. "Applause. A long lasting spotlight." she elaborated. She knew enough from writing and research that serial killers craved attention.  
"Frailty of genius, John, it needs an audience." Sherlock explained, "This is his hunting ground. Right here in the heart of the city. Now that we know his victims were abducted, that changes everything."

"How?" Charlotte questioned,  
"Because all of his victims disappeared in busy streets, crowded places, but nobody saw them go." he answered looking down to her. "Think! Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed where ever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?"  
"I don't know. Who?" John asked, thinking Sherlock already knew, but Charlotte could see he didn't.  
"Haven't the faintest." the detective admitted, "Hungry?" and with that he walked in another direction passed Charlotte.

Sherlock pushed open the door to a small restaurant, and greeted the waiter. He lead them to a table by the large window facing the street, and let Charlotte shuffle into the corner between the two men as they all removed their coats.

"Twenty-two Northumberland Street, keep your eyes on it." he ordered, glancing through the window at the street opposite. Sherlock's eyes focused on something that was nearer to him: Charlotte.

She tucked her grown-out fringe behind her ear, mixing it with the rest of the blonde waves, and her brown eyes were glancing around the establishment, taking in the details before they landed on Sherlock who was still looking at her. He didn't remove his gaze, and a small smile appeared on her full lips before turning to John as he spoke. Sherlock supposed that she was aesthetically pleasing, and her personality, from what he had seen, was too. But what intrigued him most was that, somehow, she could think almost like him. He watched her out of the corner of his eyes at the crime scene and saw the cogs turn in her head.

"He's not just gonna ring the doorbell is he? He'd be mad." John's voice shook him out of his thoughts,  
"He _has _killed four people." Charlotte reminded him.  
A large man, who Charlotte deduced to be the owner of the restaurant, approached the trio with a smile.

"Sherlock," he greeted, shaking his hand, "Anything on the menu, anything you want, free, on the house," the man said as he gave out the menus, and Sherlock smiled kindly. "For you, and your date," the man finished, smiling at John, and Charlotte pressed her lips together to stop from grinning.  
"Do you want to eat?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm not his date," John corrected as she took the menu from the man.  
"This man got me off a murder charge." the man completely ignored her protests.  
"This is Angelo," Sherlock introduced him, "Three years ago I successfully proved to Lestrade that at the time of a particularly vicious triple murder that Angelo was in a completely different part of town house breaking." he explained, never taking his eyes of Northumberland Street.

"He cleared my name,"  
"I cleared a little bit." he corrected Angelo. "Nothing happening opposite?"  
"Nothing," Angelo answered, "But for this man, I'd have gone to prison."  
"You did go to prison."  
"I'll get a candle for the table, more romantic." Angelo said smiling once again, before leaving the table.

"I-I'm not his date!" the doctor called after him, attracting the glances of a few customers, but he didn't hear.  
"You may as well eat; we may have a long wait." Sherlock pushed his menu away and Angelo came back with a candle, as promised.  
"...Thanks." he muttered, and Charlotte let out a little giggle, keeping her eyes glued to the menu.

"People don't have arch enemies." John stated, after they had been served their food.  
"I'm sorry?" Sherlock said, not hearing what John had said because he was too busy looking out the window.  
"In real life, there are no arch-enemies in real life. It doesn't happen."  
"Doesn't it? Sounds a bit dull," Sherlock commented, still watching the street.

"So who did we meet?" John asked,  
"What do real people have then, in their real lives?" he ignored the question.  
"Friends," John started, "People they know, people they like, people they don't like, girlfriends, boyfriends."  
"Well, as I was saying, dull."  
"You don't have girlfriend then?" John asked,  
"Girlfriend? No, not really my area" John nodded,

"Oh right then," the doctor paused, "Do you have a boyfriend? Which is fine by the way." Charlotte hummed her agreement around her gnocchi.  
"I know it's fine," Sherlock replied, looking between the two.  
"So you've got a boyfriend?" John questioned. Charlotte could feel John was digging himself a bit of a hole, so decided to remain silent.

"No." Sherlock was quick to reply.  
"Okay, you're unattached, just like me." John said. Tension filled the air.  
"Me too," Charlotte blurted out before she knew it.  
"John, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest-"  
"No." John said, clearing his throat, "No, I'm not asking-no. I'm just saying it's _all_ fine."

"Good," Sherlock nodded, and he turned to look out the window once again, "Thank you. Look across the street."  
Both John and Charlotte turned to see a black cab stop outside Northumberland Street. "No one getting in, no one getting out. Why a taxi? Oh that's clever- why is it clever?"

"That guy in the back? _That's _the murderer?" Charlotte asked,  
"Don't stare," Sherlock said, and Charlotte scoffed and caught the detective's eyes in the reflection.  
"_You're_ staring."  
"We can't all stare," he replied, and got up, grabbed his coat, then went outside leaving John and Charlotte at the table.

After a moment, they too quickly put on their coats and stepped outside into the cold air, not realising that John had left his cane inside.

**REVIEW REPLIES:**

**The Inquirer: **Thanks for the input about the kiss :) You won't have to wait long until Moriarty shows up ;) Enjoy!

**Cat: **YES! Someone else knows who they are! I love them too, and do you know the band Keane? I think you might like them too! Sewn is favourite song by The Feeling along with Rose and Strange :) Enjoy this chappie :D

** tree. kitten00: **I'm sad you didn't really enjoy the last chapter. About her being like a copycat, I don't really see her acting any different because certain questions have to be asked and whatnot, but I felt a bit iffy about it as well... I hope that guy gets roundhouse kicked in the throat, and I hope you like this chapter better than the last :(

**Martin: **Really, Ed, really? Tell me at school why it was crap :)

_I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I'm so pleased with this story since its got over 600 views! Thank you to all who followed and favourite, cookies to you all._

_Question time: Between brother, best friend, and boyfriend, choose who would be who between John, Sherlock and Lestrade :) don't forget to review either ;)_


	6. Drugs Bust

Outside the door, the cold night air hit Charlotte in waves as a gentle breeze caused goosebumps to appear on the skin that her plaid didn't cover. She shrugged on her leather jacket as Sherlock and herself kept their eyes on the taxi. The man in the back stared back at them, before turning back around as the taxi pulled away. A flash of black rushed past Charlotte as Sherlock immediately ran after the taxi without even bothering to check the road.

"Look before you-!" Charlotte began to call out, but a car came from the left and slammed the brakes. Sherlock didn't let this stop him, but allowed his forward impetus to roll him over the bonnet and continue chasing after the black cab. The owner of the car angrily sounded his horn as John put his hand on the bonnet and vaulted over the front of the vehicle. Charlotte followed and hopped onto the car before jumping off the other side slightly off balance, and catching up the boys while cursing under her breath.

She caught up with Sherlock who had stopped as he realised he would not catch up with the taxi.  
"I've got the cab number," John stated from next to her, knowing that it would be useful in finding out who was in the taxi.  
"Good for you." Sherlock said, before bringing his hands up on either side of his head and listing off rapid-fire, "Right turn, one way, road works, traffic lights, bus lane, pedestrian crossing, left turn only, traffic lights."

The consulting detective raced off again just as Charlotte had got her breath back and groaned as she forced her legs to hurry after John who followed Sherlock. The trio bustled past a man standing in a doorway and started to climb up some darkened metal spiral fire escape stairs leading to the roof, Sherlock taking them two at a time while John and Charlotte struggled to keep up with him.

'_Lanky git,'_ she thought, '_its not easy being short you know!'  
_ "Come on," Sherlock called from above them. Reaching the top of the stairs, Sherlock ran to edge and looked over before seeing a shorter metal spiral staircase leading down the side of the building to another door. He galloped down them and climbed onto the railing before leaping across the gap between the building they were on to the next. She scrambled onto the railing after John and too jumped over the gap without thinking about it too much. Heights weren't really her _thing_.

The lithe detective bounded across to the other side of the roof and once again leapt to the next building. John and Charlotte raced after him, but they both skidded to a halt as she realised that the gap may be too wide to jump across. Charlotte hesitated, and joined John at looking down to the drop beneath. Huge mistake. The roof they were on seemed a mile high to Charlotte, and she started to feel a little nauseous.

"Come _on_, we're losing him!" Sherlock exclaimed impatiently. Charlotte shared an unsure glance with John. The two backed up a few paces and braced themselves. Charlotte let John go first, and he managed to jump the gap. Charlotte took a quick deep breath and ran forward to fly over the gap, then drop down onto a walkway along the side of the building, surprisingly not tripping or twisting her ankle in her short-heeled boots.

The trio continued to dash down yet another spiral staircase and drop down from a ledge into a quiet alleyway before running onwards again. Sherlock lead them through the alley and they were nearing the end of it as the taxi drove right past them.

"Ah, no!" Sherlock muttered angrily, and raced out the alleyway turning right. "This way," he called back, but John instead instinctively turned left in pursuit of the taxi while Charlotte paused just outside the alley, unsure of who to follow. "No, _this_ way!" Sherlock called again.

"Sorry," John curtly apologised, and he and Charlotte ran after Sherlock in the right direction. The three of them ran down the street, seemingly taking a shorter route than the taxi. After heading down more alleys and side streets, Sherlock raced out into the road and hurled himself into the path of the approaching cab. It screeched to a halt as he crashed hard into the bonnet, and Sherlock flashed an ID badge at the driver.

"Police! Open her up!" he demanded, before tearing open the passenger's door. He took one look at the passenger, who stared back at him anxiously, and instantly straightened up in exasperation just as Charlotte and John joined him.

"No." the detective breathed, sounding annoyed, "Teeth, tan: what- Californian?"  
"Los Angeles," Charlotte corrected, nodding towards a suitcase with the flight label reading 'LAX' still wrapped around the handle.  
"Just arrived," he agreed, looking at the suitcase himself.  
"How can you _possibly_ know that?" John glanced between the two.

"The luggage," they answered simultaneously.  
"It's probably your first trip to London, right, going by your final destination and the route the cabbie was taking you?" Sherlock questioned, but the poor passenger just looked befuddled.  
"Sorry- are you guys the police?" he asked with an American accent, frowning at the three.

"Yeah," Sherlock answered, flashing his ID badge briefly at the man, "Everything alright?" he asked politely.  
"Yeah," the man smiled at them. Sherlock paused for a moment, and Charlotte bit her lip wondering if he knew how to get out of this one.  
"Welcome to London," He smiled falsely at the American, and immediately walked away leaving John and Charlotte in confusion.

"Uhm, enjoy your stay!" She smiled brightly at the passenger, awkwardly saluting with two fingers, and scurrying off towards Sherlock.  
"Er, any problems just let us know." She heard John say from behind her. She slowed to a stop beside Sherlock.  
"I'm impressed," he stated, looking down at her from the corner of his eyes. She was about to speak when John joined them too.

"Basically just a cab that happened to slow down," he said.  
"Basically," Sherlock replied.  
"Not the murderer,"  
"_Not_ the murderer, no." Sherlock repeated exasperated.  
"Wrong country, good alibi."  
"As they go." Sherlock fidgeted with the ID card in his hands.

"Hey, where-where did you get this? Here," John reached for the card, and Sherlock released it. "Detective Inspector Lestrade?" John asked, sounding still out of breath after reading it. Charlotte raised an eyebrow in Sherlock's direction.

"Yeah. I pickpocket him when he's annoying. You can keep that one, I've got plenty at the flat. You can have one if you want." He added casually to Charlotte, who rose the other brow. John nodded and looked down at the card again before lifting his head and giggling silently.

"What?" Sherlock queried.  
"Nothing, just: 'Welcome to London' and 'Enjoy your stay'." He answered still smiling. Charlotte chuckled along with them, shaking her head in disbelief at what they had just done.

"Got your breath back?" Sherlock asked, and Charlotte looked ahead of her to see that the taxi had stopped and the passenger, now accompanied with a police officer, was pointing towards them.  
"Ready when you are." John breathed, and her shoulders slumped.  
"Could we not just get a cab?" she pleaded.  
"Now where's the fun in that?" Sherlock smirked. He grabbed her wrist and began to drag her along with them.

* * *

After running for a full ten minutes that felt much longer to Charlotte, they had finally reached 221 Baker Street. Charlotte removed her leather jacket and hung it up next to John's.

"That was ridiculous." John puffed, leaning against the foyer wall, followed by Charlotte and Sherlock, "That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

Charlotte nodded her agreement from in between them, still trying to catch her breath. She _really_ needed to start jogging again.

"And you invaded Afghanistan." John and Charlotte giggled at Sherlock's remark, soon joined by the man himself.  
"That wasn't just me," John pointed out and Charlotte snorted, resting her head back on the wall.

"Shouldn't we be back at the restaurant? To catch the killer?" She asked looking up at Sherlock, but he only waved his hand dismissively.

"Oh, they can keep an eye out. It was a long shot anyway."  
"Why were we even there then?" She asked with a hint of irritation in her voice. Had they just done all that running for nothing? Sherlock cleared his throat.

"Oh, just passing the time." He looked past Charlotte at John, "And proving a point."  
"What point?" John asked, to which Sherlock replied simply,  
"You." He then turned towards 221a, Mrs Hudson's residence, and called out, "Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson _will_ take the room upstairs."  
"Says who?" John frowned.

"Says the man at the door." Sherlock answered, looking towards the front door. Charlotte turned her head just as someone knocked on it three times. John looked back at the detective in surprise, and Sherlock smiled. As John went to answer the door, a wave of realisation hit Charlotte.

"John's cane." She whispered, and turned to Sherlock with a hint of a smile playing on her lips. He looked down at her, still breathing heavily.  
"I'm surprised you didn't notice sooner."  
"Sorry, I was too busy chasing after a cab through London to pay attention to someone's psychosomatic limp." Sarcasm dripped from her voice, and Sherlock frowned in interest.  
"You knew it was psychosomatic."  
"Yeah, took me a while but I got there in the end." She said, pushing herself off the wall.  
"I'm impressed," he stated, in his deep voice.

John joined them as Mrs Hudson came out of her flat, looking upset and tearful as she spoke.  
"Sherlock, what have you done?"  
"Mrs Hudson?"  
"Upstairs." She sniffled. Sherlock turned and hurried up stairs, Charlotte and John following.

Charlotte's thoughts were of Layton, and whether or not he had done something or something had happened to him. But her worries faded as she saw Lestrade lounging in Sherlock's chair. The flat was filled with police officers, searching through Sherlock's possessions. Charlotte looked to her right, and saw a vested officer holding a leash that held an angry, growling Layton at the end. Sherlock stormed over to Lestrade as Charlotte stamped over to the officer, snatched the lead from his hands and started to calm Layton down.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock demanded.  
"Well, I knew you'd find the case. I'm not stupid."  
"You can't just break into my flat," Sherlock pointed out.  
"And you can't withhold evidence," Lestrade retorted, "And I didn't _break_ into your flat."  
"Well what do you call this then?" Sherlock's voice rose, and Lestrade looked round at his officers before looking back at Sherlock innocently.

"It's a drugs bust."  
"Seriously? _This_ guy, a junkie? Have you met him?" John exclaimed, and Sherlock turned to him, biting his lip.  
"John…"  
"I'm pretty sure you could search this flat all day, you wouldn't find anything you could call recreational." John said to Lestrade, and Charlotte nodded silently, knowing Layton would have sniffed them out already.

"John, you probably want to shut up _now_." Sherlock whispered.  
"Yeah, but come on." John stared at Sherlock for a moment and realised how serious he's looking. "No." he said disbelievingly.  
"What?"  
"_You_?"  
"Shut up!" Sherlock said angrily, turning back to Lestrade.

"I'm not your sniffer dog." He declared, "I've already got one." Sherlock nodded to where Charlotte was now standing with Layton, the both of them looking irritated.  
"No, _Anderson_'s my sniffer dog," Lestrade nodded towards the kitchen.  
"What, A-" the closed doors to the kitchen slide open to reveal said big-nose, who raised his hand in sarcastic greeting.

"Anderson, what are _you_ doing here on a drugs bust?" he demanded angrily.  
"Oh, I volunteered." He answered venomously, and Sherlock turned away in frustration.  
"They _all_ did. They're not strictly speaking _on_ the drugs squad, but they're very keen." Lestrade said, still relaxing in the armchair. Donovan came out from the kitchen, holding a small glass jar with some white round objects in it.

"Are these _human_ eyes?" She questioned, and Charlotte internally gagged.  
"Put those back!" Sherlock pointed at the kitchen.  
"They were in the microwave!" she exclaimed.  
"It's an experiment." He replied, and Charlotte made a mental note to _never_ use the microwave. Ever.

Sherlock turned and walked over to the author, who was standing there looking confused and annoyed at the same time.  
"Keep looking guys," Lestrade called out as he stood up turned to Sherlock. "Or you could help us properly and I'll stand them down."

Sherlock starting pacing around angrily, "This is childish."  
"You don't say…" Charlotte muttered.  
"Well, I'm _dealing_ with a child. Sherlock, this is _our_ case. I'm letting you in, but you do _not_ go off on your own. Clear?" Lestrade asked. Sherlock stopped and glared at him,  
"Oh, what, so-so-so you set up a pretend drugs bust to _bully_ me?"  
"It stops being pretend if they find anything." Lestrade said seriously.

"There's nothing here," Charlotte spoke up, and walked towards the three men. "If there was, then Layton would've picked it up. He's a sniffer dog." She explained.  
"And besides, I am clean!" Sherlock proclaimed loudly.  
"Is your flat? All of it?" Lestrade asked, and Charlotte rolled her eyes.  
"I don't even smoke," Sherlock unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and pulled it up to reveal a nicotine patch on his lower arm.  
"Neither do I." Lestrade rolled up his own sleeve to show a similar patch. "So let's work together. We've found Rachel."

"Who is she?" Sherlock spun back around to the DI.  
"Jennifer Wilson's only daughter." He answered, but Sherlock frowned.  
"Her daughter? Why would she write her daughter's name? Why?"  
"Never mind _that_, we found the case." Anderson spoke, pointing towards where Sherlock had left the pink baggage in the living room. "According to _someone_, the murderer has the case, and we found it in the hands of our favourite psychopath."

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research." Sherlock retorted disparagingly, before turning back to Lestrade. "You need to bring Rachel in. You need to question her. _I_ need to question her."

"She's dead." Lestrade announced.  
"Excellent!"  
"Excellent?" Charlotte repeated Sherlock, but was ignored.  
"How, when and why? Is there a connection? There _has_ to be." Sherlock said all at once, obviously growing excited.

"Well, I doubt it, since she's been dead for fourteen years. Technically, she was never alive. Rachel was Jennifer Wilson's stillborn daughter, fourteen years ago." Lestrade informed. John grimaced sadly and turned away as Charlotte looked down at her boots and closed her eyes. Sherlock, on the other hand, just looked confused.

"No, that's… that's not right. How… why would she do that? _Why_?"  
"Why would she think of her daughter in her last moments? Yup- sociopath; I'm seeing it now." Anderson sneered. Sherlock turned to him with an exasperated look on his face.  
"She didn't _think_ about her daughter. She scratched her name on the floor with her fingernails. She was dying. It took effort. It would have hurt." Sherlock began to pace back and forth across the room again.

"You said that the victims all took the poison themselves, that he _makes_ them take it. Well, maybe he… I don't know, talks to them? Maybe he used the death of her daughter somehow." John suggested, and Sherlock stopped and turned to him.  
"Yeah, but that was ages ago. Why would she still be upset?"

There couldn't have been a more awkward moment than that, as everyone in the flat stopped what they were doing and fell silent. Sherlock glanced around the room and then looked awkwardly at John and Charlotte.  
"Not good?"  
"Not particularly, no." Charlotte answered, also glancing around. Sherlock immediately shook it off and stepped to her, looking at her intently.  
"Yeah, but if you were dying… if you'd been murdered: in your very last few seconds what would you say?" he asked in a whisper.

"Uhm… Please God don't let me die?" Sherlock made a face and turned to John instead, raising an eyebrow.  
"Please, God, let me live." He answered simply, looking Sherlock in the eye.  
"Oh, use your imagination!" Sherlock sounded exasperated, "And you!" he looked towards Charlotte, "You're supposed to be the author."

"I don't have to." John said, and Charlotte winced. Sherlock seemed to recognise the look of pain in John's face. He paused momentarily and blinked a couple of times, and shifted his feet before continuing.  
"Yeah, but if you were clever, _really_ clever… Jennifer Wilson running all those lovers: she _was_ clever." And with that, he began to pace again.

"She's trying to _tell_ us something." He insisted.  
"Isn't the doorbell working? Your taxi's here, Sherlock." Came Mrs Hudson's voice from the doorway.  
"I didn't order a taxi. Go away." Sherlock waved her off, and Charlotte tutted at him.  
"Oh dear, they're making such a mess. What are they looking for?" Mrs Hudson asked.  
"It's a drugs bust, Mrs Hudson." John replied.  
"But they're just for my hip," she sounded anxious, "They're herbal soothers."

"Shut up, everybody, shut up! Don't move, don't speak, don't breathe." Sherlock's outburst made Charlotte jump, and Layton tilted his head as he whined. "I'm trying to think. Anderson, face the other way, you're putting me off."  
"What? My _face_ is?"  
"Everybody quiet and still. Anderson, turn your back." Lestrade commanded.  
"Oh, for God's sake!"  
"Your _back_, now, please!" The DI shouted.

"Come on, think. Quick!" Charlotte heard Sherlock say to himself.  
"What about your taxi?" Mrs Hudson inquired. Sherlock spun around and shouted furiously,  
"MRS HUDSON!"  
The landlady turned and hurried away down the stairs.  
"Do you have to be so rude?" Charlotte exclaimed.  
"Oh."

Sherlock began to smile in delight, and frankly, it sort of worried Charlotte.  
"What is it?" she asked.  
"Ah! She was clever, clever, yes!"  
"Sherlock?" he walked across the room then turned back to the others.  
"She cleverer than you lot and she's dead. Do you see, do you get it? She didn't _lose_ her phone, she never lost it."

'_Oh… of course!_' Charlotte thought.  
"She _planted_ it on him." Sherlock continued, "When she got out of the car, she knew that she was going to her death. She left the phone in order to lead us to her killer."  
"But how?" Lestrade asked.  
"Wha…? What do you mean, how?" he questioned, but Lestrade only shrugged.

"Rachel!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking at them all triumphantly. But they only stared back at him blankly. Although he could have sworn he saw a flicker in Charlotte's eyes. "Don't you see? _Rachel_!" he tried again, only to have no change in reaction apart from Charlotte shifting from one foot to the other. "Oh, look at you lot. You're all so vacant. Is it nice not being me? It must be _so_ relaxing. Rachel is not a name."

"Then what is it?" John asked, getting impatient.  
"A password…" Charlotte muttered, and Sherlock clapped his hands together in glee.  
"Ah, finally someone gets it! John, on the luggage, there's a label. E-mail address."  
John reached for the label as Sherlock sat down at the table and turned his laptop on.  
"Er, jennie dot pink at mephone dot org dot uk." John read out.

"Oh, I've been to slow. She didn't have a laptop, which means she did her business on her phone, so it's a smartphone, it's e-mail enabled." Sherlock said, as he typed in her username, "So there was a website for her account. The username is her email address… and all together now, the password is?"  
"Rachel." John and Charlotte finished at the same time, coming to stand on either side of Sherlock.

"So we can read her emails. So what?" Anderson muttered from the same place in the kitchen.  
"Anderson, don't talk aloud. You lower the IQ of the whole street." Charlotte snorted at Sherlock's comment, "We can do much more than just read her emails. It's a smartphone, it's got GPS, which means if you lose it you can locate it online."  
"She's leading us to the man who killed her." Charlotte deduced.

"Unless he got rid of it" Lestrade said,  
"We know he didn't." John replied over his shoulder.  
"Come on, come one. Quickly!" Sherlock mumbled, getting impatient with the time it took to locate Wilson's phone. Mrs Hudson trotted up the stairs and stood in the doorway.

"Sherlock, dear, this taxi driver…" she began, but Sherlock got to his feet and strode over to her.  
"Mrs Hudson, isn't time for you evening soother?" he hissed.  
John sat down in Sherlock's place and watched as the website claimed it would locate the phone in under three minutes.

"We need to get vehicles, get a helicopter." Charlotte heard Sherlock say to Lestrade, but a tugging in her hand distracted her. She looked down at Layton who was standing facing the door, with his ears bent back and teeth showing every couple of moments.  
"Layton…" she warned, and turned back to the computer in time to see the map come up to indicate the phone was… there. In Baker Street.

"Er, Sherlock…" she called, and he came to them looking over their shoulders.  
"What is it? Quickly, where?"  
"In here," she answered, "in 221 Baker Street."  
"How can it be here?" he murmured, "_How_?"  
"Well, maybe it was in the case when you brought it back and it fell out somewhere." Lestrade provided.

"What and I didn't notice it? _Me_? I didn't notice?"  
"It's an easy thing to miss, Sherlock." Charlotte said.  
"Anyway, we texted him and he called back." John told Lestrade, who turned around to call out to the officers still in their flat.  
"Guys, we're also looking for a mobile somewhere here, belonged to the victim." Lestrade ordered, and the officers set to work straight away.

Charlotte let go of Layton's leash and joined in too, she started to search around the sofa and the cluttered desk, looking for the phone. She kept an eye out for something pink, guessing that that would be the most likely colour Jennifer Wilson would pick. She turned to Mrs Hudson, who was still standing in the doorway, and went up to her.

"Mrs Hudson, you wouldn't have happened to see a phone anywhere? Most probably a pink one?"  
"No dear, sorry." Was her answer, and Charlotte was about to resume her search when she glanced over the landlady's shoulder and saw a man partially covered by the shadows in the darkened stairway. The man appeared to be about Mrs Hudson's age, and was wearing a cheese-cutter cap and a chain was hanging around his neck with a cab number on it. She dismissed him, thinking him to be a cabbie with the wrong address and turned around, just missing the man pocket a pink phone and leave the stairwell.

She vaguely heard Sherlock's phone trill a text alert, and rummaged through the cluttered desk again in case she missed anything.  
"Sherlock, you okay?" she heard John ask, and she looked up to see the man in question watching the empty doorway.  
"What? Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." He replied vaguely, eyes still trained on the doorway.  
"So, how can the phone be here?" John asked.  
"Dunno."

Charlotte frowned at his odd behaviour, wanting more than anything to find out what was going through his mind. He had found out something, that much was obvious by how distracted he sounded.  
"I'll try it again." John said, getting up to fish his phone out of his trouser pocket.  
"Good idea." Sherlock said as he headed towards the door. Charlotte straightened up and placed a hand on her hip.

"And where are you going?" she questioned.  
"Fresh air. Just popping outside for a moment. Won't be long." He answered, still sounding vague.  
"You sure you're alright?" John called after him.  
"I'm fine." Sherlock quickened his pace down the stairs.

**REVIEW REPLIES**

**Badmoon907: **Glad you're enjoying this, hope you like this chappie

**Martin: **frickin Ed. Cheers for the feedback at school

**The Inquirer: **Here's an update for ya :)

**ashleythomp: **hope you love this one too! :)

** 00: **Its fine, I asked for criticism and reviews and I actually like it that you pointed out the flaws; it helps me improve my work :)

**Em: **here's more, I hope you enjoy!

**Guest: **omg we have the same choices on the whole brother/boyfriend/best friend thing :D Enjoy

**Don't forget to review, and also would anyone be interested if I make a tumblr account as Charlotte? that way you can interact with her and Layton... just though that'd be a cool idea ^-^ tell me what you think :)**


	7. Pick A Pill, Any Pill

Charlotte arched a brow at Sherlock's sudden change in behaviour. What was going on with that man? She thought then and there that she would never know. She ran a hand through her hair and fell back onto the sofa out of stress and tiredness, gazing up at the ceiling. Layton immediately laid his head upon her lap at an attempt of comfort and quietly whined. Charlotte sighed and lifted her head up to pat the top of her canine friend's head.

John watched his female roommate with a small concerned frown on his face.  
"You alright, Charlotte?" he asked,  
"I'm fine… just a little…" she waved a hand in the air trying to look for the right word, "_meh_."  
"Right," John nodded, and moved the speaker end of the mobile back to his mouth.

Charlotte chewed on her bottom lip, trying her best to put all the clues and information together in her head. The victims weren't connected, they were in places they had no reason to be in, and they all appeared to be suicides. Was it even _possible_ that it could all fit together? Frustrated, she rose from the sofa, dislodging Layton from her lap, and began to pace back and forth. She turned at the furthest window and stopped in her tracks when a black shape caught her eye outside.

Sherlock was bent over, talking to a cabbie through the passenger window. She thought he must have been going for a drive rather than a walk. After a couple movements of his lips, he slowly straightened up, staring ahead for a moment before sensing a gaze upon him. He turned to look over his shoulder to the window of 221b above, and saw Charlotte standing there with confusion etched onto her features. She tilted her head in question, he gave her his best 'don't worry' look, and she nodded back still looking confused.

She watched him get into the cab and drive off.  
"He just got into a cab," John said next to her, having joined Charlotte at the window in time to see. "It's Sherlock. He just drove off in a cab."  
Donavan, who was standing beside Lestrade, let out a tut of irritation.  
"I told you, he does that." She said, and turned to Lestrade, "He bloody left again. We're wasting our time!" she called to the other officers who were still searching through the contents of the flat.

"I'm calling the phone. It's ringing out." John said, his mobile still at his ear.  
"Then it's not here." Charlotte came to stand next to John, "It's not ringing. I can't hear it, Layton can't hear it." She said, poking a thumb in said dog's direction. John lowered his phone, and reached for the computer notebook. "I'll try the search again."

"Does it matter? Does any of it matter?" Donovan questioned, coming back to confront Lestrade, "You know, he's just a lunatic, and he'll _always_ let you down, and you're wasting your time. _All_ our time."  
They had a stare-down for a long moment, until Lestrade sighed.  
"Okay, everybody. Done 'ere." He announced, and his officers began to put things back and finish up what they were doing.

"Why did he do that?" Lestrade asked as he picked up his coat, "Why did he have to leave?"  
"You know him better than we do," Charlotte shrugged.  
"I've known him for five years and no, I don't"  
"So why do you put up with him?" John asked,  
"Because I'm desperate, that's why." And with that, he walked to the door.

"And because Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very _lucky_, he might even be a _good_ one." Lestrade said, turning back towards John and Charlotte. He then left, along with the rest of the police men and women.

Charlotte took the lead off Layton and walked back to the kitchen, trying to put various objects back where she thought they belonged. She came across the jar full of eyeballs left on the table and groaned in disgust, gingerly putting it back into the microwave and wiping her hand on the side of her jeans.

"Where do you think he's gone?" John asked from the armchair that was quickly becoming his.  
"I don't know, you tell me. You've known him longer." She joked, and heard John chuckle.  
"By about twenty-four hours." She giggled at his reply, and came back into the living room. She took the netbook and placed it on her lap when she sat down on the sofa.

A silence took over, and Charlotte was quick to grow impatient. She had her thumb nail in her mouth, chewing on it in edginess. Layton was stepping up to climb onto the sofa and she pushed him gently away, telling the Shepherd that he wasn't allowed to. He plodded slowly to John, going for some sympathy and whined at him. John smiled and shook his head lightly, leaning forward to scratch behind his ears and under his chin.

The notebook suddenly let out a triumphant beep, and Charlotte perked up.  
"I've got it!"  
"What?" John paused his actions.  
"The phone- it's at Roland-Kerr Further Education College." She said, looking from the map on the screen up to John. There was a pause, and then John quickly got up and took the notebook that Charlotte held out to him as they passed each other while she retrieved Layton's leash from the other side of the room and tied it to his collar. She looked around for anything of Sherlock's that would have its scent on it. Her eyes landed on the grey leather armchair, and she prompted Layton towards it, letting him take in a whiff.

Her dog's demeanour changed from house-trained to police-trained with his nose to the ground, as he half-dragged Charlotte after John who was heading for the door with the netbook in hand. They descended the stairs, and once they reached the sidewalk, Charlotte whistled loudly for a cab. John gave her a look, and she just shrugged as a black taxi pulled up in front of them. The three clambered in and as soon as the cabbie saw Layton, he objected.  
"No dogs, love." He said.  
"We're police." She said, "Kinda…"  
That seemed to appease the driver, and he put the vehicle into gear.

John was giving the cabbie directions, Layton was sitting impatiently on the taxi floor, and Charlotte was bobbing her leg up and down trying to figure out why Sherlock was there.  
"Why do you think he's gone there? Sherlock, I mean." John said after instructing the driver to turn right.  
"I dunno." She sighed. "Why a college? Maybe he's going to find the killer there…"  
"But what sort of killer hides in a college?" John frowned.  
"What was it that Sherlock said earlier? 'Who do we trust, even though we don't know them? Who passes unnoticed where ever they go? Who hunts in the middle of a crowd?'" Her brow furrowed in thought, "A teacher?"

"A teacher?" John repeated.  
"We trust them as soon as we meet them, sometimes we ignore them, and their crowd could be a class?"  
"Jennifer Wilson wasn't a student." He pointed out. Charlotte's eyes grew wide with realisation, and she slapped a hand to her forehead causing Layton to perk up. "What?" John asked.  
"A cabbie." She mumbled. "It's a cabbie. So obvious if you think about it." She looked towards John who looked lost for a split second, then understanding.  
"I'll ring Lestrade." He announced.

Charlotte hummed her agreement, and turned to gaze at the London night-life whizzing by. John had exchanged a few words with the person at the other end of the call, and was apparently having some difficulty getting in touch with the Detective Inspector.  
"No, Detective Inspector Lestrade. I _need_ to speak to him. It's important. It's an emergency!" he complained, "Er, left here, please. Left here." He instructed, looking down to the laptop. Charlotte removed it from his lap, taking over his job of giving directions while he continued to arrange things with the police force.

After a few short minutes, the two finally arrived at the Further Education college. But there was one problem. The map of the notebook didn't pinpoint _exactly_ where the phone was, and there were two separate buildings.  
"Ah." Charlotte voiced, "You take the one on the left and I'll take the one on the right?"  
"You haven't got a gun," John pointed out, "What if you run into trouble?"  
"I've got Layton." She held up his leash.  
"Alright." He nodded, and they jogged their opposite ways to the buildings.

She was on the first floor of her building when Layton suddenly tugged her to the right down a darkened corridor. His nose was trained to the floor, audible sniffing coming from him. Charlotte let him lead her, praying that it was Sherlock's scent he had picked up. Soon enough, after peeking through many door windows, she found the room Sherlock was in. He was standing in front of a large window, and an elderly man was standing in front of him. In both their hands were what looked to be pill bottles. Sherlock unscrewed the cap of the bottle in his hands, and poured a pill out.

Charlotte gingerly pushed the door open, staying as quiet as possible. Thankfully, Layton was also silent. With no growls or snarls, he creeped closer. She saw Sherlock's eyes flit over to her past the cabbie's shoulder before returning to his close study of the pill.  
"This… _this_ is what you're really addicted to, innit?" the cabbie spoke, "You'd do anything…anything at all…to stop being bored." Sherlock's hand was moving closer and closer to his mouth. _He wasn't really going to take it… was he? _"You're not bored now… are ya?"

In slight panic of what was about to happen, Charlotte unleashed Layton, and he barked loudly as he sprinted towards the man and clamped his teeth around the arm holding the pill, causing him to cry out in shock and pain. Suddenly, a gunshot rang out and the cabbie fell the floor, a gunshot wound close to his heart and a growling Layton still attached to his arm. Sherlock slid over a desk behind him and hurried to the window, bending down to stare through a bullet hole in the glass.

The cabbie coughed and cried out from Layton's hold on him. Charlotte shook herself out of her shock, and grabbed Layton's collar to pull him off of the cabbie. After the third tug, he finally let go and she had to keep a tight hold on his collar to stop him attacking again. Sherlock snatched up a pill, kneeled down and brandished it in front of the cabbie's face.

"Was I right?"  
"Sherlock!" she exclaimed, _how could he still be bothered by that?_  
"Shut up. I was, wasn't I? Did I get it right?" he urged, but there was still no answer from the dying man. Sherlock angrily threw the pill at the man's face and stood up. "Okay, tell me this: your sponsor. Who was it? The one who told you about me- my 'fan'. I want a name."

"No." the cabbie rasped weakly.  
"You're dying, but there's still time to hurt you. Give me a name." But the cabbie only shook his head at Sherlock's demand. Grimacing angrily, Sherlock lifted his foot and put it onto the man's wound and he gasped in pain. As if helping Sherlock, Layton snarled and barked, flashing his teeth. "A _name_. _Now."_

Still, the cabbie only whined in pain, and with a manic and intent face Sherlock leaned his weight onto his foot.  
"The _NAME_!" he shouted furiously, causing Charlotte to flinch, hand tightening its hold on Layton's collar.  
"_MORIARTY_!" The cabbie cried out, agonised. His eyes closed and his head rolled to the side. As if sensing the threat fade away, Layton calmed down, and Charlotte fell to the floor on her backside.

Sherlock stood back, turning his head away with a reflective look on his face. He silently mouthed the word 'Moriarty' to himself, and shared an uneasy glance with Charlotte who was sitting on the floor with one leg outstretched and the other bent up to support her elbow. Layton began to lick her hand, and she sighed, shakily standing up. She clipped him to his leash, and brushed off invisible dirt from her jeans.

He strode past her and she hesitated before going after him. They were walking through a corridor when she broke the silence.  
"Uhm- Should we really just leave the body there? I mean-"  
"The police are already here." He interrupted, and as if on cue a pair of policemen rushed round the corner towards them. "The body's in there." Sherlock stated bored, pointing in the vague direction of the room they had been occupying.

* * *

Outside the college, Sherlock and Charlotte were sitting on the back steps of an ambulance. For the seventh time a paramedic placed a bright orange blanket, the same as Charlotte's, around Sherlock's shoulders. He let out a sigh of frustration and tore it off, unceremoniously chucking it over Layton's head. The Shepherd jumped from Charlotte's feet and thrashed his head around before the blanket finally came off. His tongue lolled out happily and his tail wagged as he looked at Sherlock with a playful glint in his eyes.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes at Layton, and yet another blanket was put around his shoulders. As Lestrade approached them, Sherlock gestured to the material around him.  
"Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me."  
"It's for shock, Sherlock." Charlotte shook her head, smiling a little.  
"I'm not _in_ shock."  
"Yeah, but some of the guys wanna take photographs." Lestrade grinned, and Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Lestrade then turned his grin towards the German Shepherd that was sitting at Charlotte's feet.

"You did a very good job." He praised Layton as he squatted and scratched the dog on his head, who wagged his tail and panted joyfully in reply. "He ex-police?" he asked, turning his eyes to Charlotte. She nodded in reply and smiled when Layton licked Lestrade's face, who gasped and chuckled in response. Deciding to ignore the amusing scene before him, Sherlock asked a question.  
"So, the shooter. No sign?"  
"Cleared off before we got 'ere. But a guy like that would have had enemies, I suppose. One of them could have been following him but…" The DI shrugged, after he had straightened up, "…got nothing to go on."  
Sherlock looked at him pointedly,  
"Oh, I wouldn't say that."  
"Okay, gimme." Now Lestrade rolled his eyes. Sherlock stood from the ambulance and began his deductions.  
"The bullet they just dug out of the wall's from a hand gun. Kill shot over that distance from that kind of a weapon- that's a crack shot you're looking for, but not just a marksman; a fighter." He deduced.

_John?_ Charlotte thought as she listened to Sherlock speak.

"His hands couldn't have shaken at all, so clearly he's acclimatised to violence. He didn't fire until I was in immediate danger though, so strong moral principle."

_John._

"You're looking for a man probably with a history of military service…" Sherlock trailed off, turning his head to look around the street and seeing John standing some distance away behind the police tape. _Definitely John, _Charlotte thought after she followed Sherlock's gaze. "…and nerves of steel…" He continued but trailed off again as John looked back at them innocently and then turning back away.

Lestrade also turned to follow Sherlock's stare, but he turned back before the DI could start to ask any questions.  
"Actually, do you know what? Ignore me."  
"Sorry?" Lestrade said in reply to the darker haired man.  
"Ignore all of that. It's just the, er, the shock talking." He said. Charlotte could clearly see that he was lying, and it was clear that Lestrade could too. Before any of them could say anything, Sherlock began to walk towards John and after a moment Charlotte and Layton followed.

"Where're you going?" Lestrade called after them.  
"I just need to talk about the-the rent." Sherlock answered as an excuse.  
"But I've still got questions for you!"  
"Oh, what _now_?" Sherlock turned back towards Lestrade in irritation. "I'm in shock! Look, I've got a blanket!" He brandished the sides of his blanket as if to prove it.  
"Sherlock!" Lestrade said impatiently at the consulting detective's childish behaviour.

"_And_ I just caught you a serial killer…more or less." Sherlock added. Lestrade simply looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before complying.  
"Okay. We'll bring you in tomorrow. Off you go." Sherlock and Charlotte departed from Lestrade, the former taking the blanket from around his shoulders, bundling it up and tossing it in through the open window of a police car before ducking under the police tape, and the latter copying his actions.

"Um, Sergeant Donovan's just been explaining everything, the two pills." John said as they stopped in front of him. "Been a dreadful business, hasn't it? Dreadful." He continued, scratching behind Layton's ear. Charlotte looked at him for a moment, and pulled her jacket tighter around her to stop the cold night air from chilling her bones.  
"Good shot." She said quietly. John tried but utterly failed at looking innocent.

"Yes. Yes, must have been, through that window."  
"Well, _you'd_ know." Sherlock commented.  
John was still trying to not let his expression give him away, but he was still unsuccessful.  
"Need to get the powder burns out of your fingers. I don't suppose you'd serve time for this but let's avoid the court case." Charlotte chuckled at Sherlock's advice, and John cleared his throat as he looked around nervously.

"You okay John?" She asked, tucking an unruly piece of hair behind her ear.  
"Yes, of course I'm okay." He answered.  
"Well, you _have_ just killed a man." Sherlock pointed out.  
"Yes, I…" John trailed off, "…That's true, innit?" He smiled, "But he wasn't a very nice man."  
"No. No, he wasn't really, was he?" Sherlock nodded; apparently reassured that John was really okay.  
"Damn straight." Charlotte agreed.

"And frankly a bloody awful cabbie." John joked, and Sherlock chuckled as Charlotte snorted. The dark haired man then turned and started to lead John, Charlotte and Layton away as he said: "That's true. He _was_ a bad cabbie. Should have seen the route he took us to get here!"  
John giggled, rather adorably in Lottie's opinion, and quickly reprimanded Sherlock, which only caused her to silently chuckle even more.  
"Stop! Stop, we can't giggle, it's a crime scene! Stop it!"

* * *

**First off, I just want to say how sorry I am that this is disgustingly late! I promise it will never be this long a wait again, I was just caught up with school and things :(**

**REVIEW REPLIES:**

**The Inquirer: **Thank you for your input about the blog! Sorry to make you wait for this chap :) Enjoy!

**Werewolf-demigod: **I'm just going to answer all your reviews in this reply Yvonne 'kay? Thank you! Im glad youre enjoying it so far brother! Hope you like this one :)

**CherryTree230: **Great choices there ;) Enjoy this long awaited chapter!

**Question time. Should I ****_definitely_**** make Charlotte a blog? (yes I know i've already asked this but I want more opinions from you guys!) **

**Also, would anyone be interested in a Hobbit fanfic? (There is now a poll up on my bio, go check it out! (: )**

**Don't forget to review, it fuels me and motivates me to write so reviews= less time to wait until the next chapter!**

**~Fia**


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